


The Jungle Book

by beadslut, jenna_thorn



Category: J2AU - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beadslut/pseuds/beadslut, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jensen Ackles, CEO of Ackles Corporation, travels to South America, he's expecting another routine business trip. What he gets is a plane crash in the jungle and pursuit by thugs from of one of the largest drug cartels in Colombrador. At least he has Jared, the plane's pilot, to help him survive - although Jared has some secrets of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jungle Book

  


Morgan watched as the sunrise lit the Nicaduran jungle in layers, spreading light and a new day from the edge of what had once been a luxury resort. The original owners had fallen afoul of the bane of new money, and now, it was the Frewer compound. Dawn's fingers caressed the tall crowns of the massed and feathered palm trees, waking the brightly plumed birds and eventually seeping into the under-layer of glossy dark leaves at the edges of the jungle, where the stark white concrete of the outer fence held the native land at bay and introduced a bit of Los Angeles.

The breeze raced the sunlight, lifting the edges of the closed umbrellas in corners, dancing with the ties of the cushions on the pool chairs that various wannabe starlets might decorate later, preening for the men, hoping to catch the eye of Senor Frewer, and some might for a weekend, never more. He glanced up at the house itself, turning away from the foreign beauty of the jungle. White marble and gilt, it was a Disney mansion until the security cameras moved, until a cable shifted, until Roche and Speight stepped around the corner, matching guns and matching jeans and a single brain between them. Morgan didn't want anyone really intelligent in his host of thugs to threaten his position, but sometimes, he despaired.

He raised a hand to Collins at the front gate and waited until he got a response to repeat the process with Stanz and Cohen in their towers, then strode onto the patio to join his employer.

“Ah, my attack dog, good morning," Frewer said, with a beaming smile. "Have you marked my territory?"

Morgan smiled perfunctorily at the worn thin joke before pulling a cup and the carafe of coffee toward himself.

Frewer continued breezily, “We have an adventure today, yes, my friend? Though you won’t let me play with your toys.”

He poured slowly but didn’t answer. Talking Frewer out of flying the plane remotely himself had been the work of two days, and he’d no interest in restarting the fight.

“No matter, no matter. You have convinced me.”

Morgan glanced back to his coffee. He’d sabotaged the controls on three remote control planes before realizing he hadn’t needed to. Frewer had crashed those, then gone through the fresh ones and crashed them too. Equipment was there to be used, and he knew he wouldn't have to deal with survivors, but to have Frewer destroy the data now would be maddening. He'd worked too hard to make this come together; it was all going to be his, as long as he bided his time.

“So my cautious friend, is everything ready?”

Morgan nodded. “The new and improved navigation system is installed. So long as the crew is..." _dead_ , he thought. "Incapacitated as planned, we will take control twenty minutes after takeoff.”

“And you have redundancies and back-ups and this is why I like you. My dog. Grrrr.” Frewer laughed as he shook out his napkin.

Morgan nodded into his coffee again. “Yes, sir.” This is why you like me.

 

  


Jensen feigned interest in the conversation of the Colombradoran management team. They'd been on their best professional behavior all day, trying to impress him, but as the evening wore on and the liquor flowed, they forgot the presence of their gringo CEO and started telling family stories and jokes for which he had no context.

The restaurant, with its white linens and heavy silver, was no different than the ones he'd been in every night for the last three weeks. Jensen might have yearned for local color, but the management team wanted upscale dining. The waiter's accent here in Bogotá was different than the one in Rio the night before, but the men were as interchangeable as his companions or the menu. Katherine Cassidy, the too-bright star at his left, was blonde, smart, and charming. She was also too forward, too personal. She wanted to advance her career, be seen in the company of the CEO, and let him pick up the tab for the evening. It was what he did, most nights, most trips. Jensen felt no desire to discover if her carpet matched her drapes.

He was concerned about the ethics of the Colombradoran team. Getting product in and out of the country had become more of a problem recently, and he agreed with the investigators that at least part of the _soborno_ they were paying was going into management pockets. He didn't like the system; the bribes that greased the wheels were the way business was done here, but for his people to skim from company coffers was beyond brazen. Finding out what was really going on was why he was here, after all, at the tail end of a three week trip.

His Scotch was smooth and smoky sweet--apparently he was buying top shelf. What he craved was a bottle of beer cold enough to have ice frost the label, but that wasn't what they expected from him. He tilted his head and looked down at the petite form of the company's manufacturing manager. She was an interesting woman, he thought, her wry comments jolting him from the sameness, the false sincerity that the management team had been projecting since his arrival.

As if she was reading his mind, Cortese looked up. The rest of the table laughed politely at a comment from the managing director as he began to take his leave, and she spoke softly. "Before you have to go, I would like a moment of your time."

Jensen considered, then nodded. He stood and made his farewells as the team gathered their belongings, weaving tipsily out the doors to the taxi stand. He spared a moment to send a text while he signed the check; it was only prudent to let his bodyguard know where he was going. He smiled broadly and offered his arm, self-consciously old-fashioned, to Ms. Cortese, who took it with amused dignity. From behind him, the blonde muttered, " _Tortillera._ " He felt Genevieve's flinch, but was unfamiliar with the word.

"Let's step outside, or is there," he scowled at the restaurant that could be anywhere in the world for its lack of character, "somewhere else we could go?"

She eyed him thoughtfully. "I am meeting a friend elsewhere, on my way home. You would be welcome to join us." She grinned. "I don't know if you'll like the place, though. Very local, very..." she pointed her chin at the wood and ferns, "different from this." Jensen nodded agreement; he needed a break from the Hilton/Hyatt mentality in the worst way.

Outside, the air was humid, and Jensen's hand went automatically to his tie. He was still on duty, he thought, and left it knotted in place. Genevieve grimaced and stripped off her blazer, the sleeveless sheath she wore under it showing off her considerable curves. "You will be much happier without the tie," she said with a smile. "The club where I am meeting my friend is not far and not at all formal. Shall we walk?" They started down the brightly lit street, Jensen eventually shedding his jacket as well. Music wafted from other clubs, the patrons more casually dressed the further they walked.

"Have I..." he began and grimaced. "What was it she said?"

Her eyes darkened. "You did nothing. I am... I have a girlfriend... _lesbiana_. Katerina, Katie, she is sometimes unpleasant about it."

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked, wondering why she didn't take the issue to HR.

Making a dismissive gesture with one hand, she laughed. "I am as God made me, Mr. Ackles. No, I wanted to speak with you about some irregularities in the reports you were given today. The manufacturing numbers do not match what I submitted."

His eyes narrowed, and she continued. "Your company hired me to do a job, Mr. Ackles. I would not be doing that, and frankly, would be disappointed in myself, if I let you believe the data was accurate. I sent the proper figures to your email; you should have the most correct information I can compile for you. Look for the hotmail account. Mr. Ackles--"

"Call me Jensen, please. We're off the clock, and I'm grateful for your help."

"And I am Genevieve, please." She nodded at the brightly lit facade. "This is the place."

The club was just as she said, very different from the place they'd left. Jensen sent Peter a text with the name and address, a habit of long practice, as they entered, then slid his phone into his pocket and looked around. A crowd of smiling faces and loose limbs gyrated on the dance floor, the swirling lights flicking at their features, revealing only briefly that most of them danced with partners of the same sex. Jensen smiled and found them seats at the bar. Genevieve tapped the back of his hand and leaned in. "This may not be your usual destination, but I wanted to speak out of turn."

Jensen smiled at her idiom, and remembered a place in Bangkok where men danced with men. He shook off his smile before it could become bitter. "The discrepancies. How long?"

"Since Fuller, not before." She tapped impatiently on the wood. "That is why I came to you. When I was at headquarters for training, there was talk of ethics, of the kind of behavior you expect from your employees. I want a future with Ackles Navigation."

"You are correct, and again, I thank you, personally. It's my name on the letterhead, and I take that seriously. What have you sent me?"

"Scans of revised budgets, shipping invoices. I am afraid I have made work for you. He has many layers of paper."

"And we have lawyers who are very good at finding what we'll need in those papers."

As they finished their discussion, another brunette joined them and greeted Genevieve with an enthusiastic kiss. She introduced her partner, Traci. Jensen was taken aback. "Traci Dinwiddie? Dinwiddie Air?"

"One and the same, and if I'm not mistaken, you were in my valuation modeling class at SMU, lo, those many years ago. Jensen Ackles?"

"Nice to see you again."

"You too. You'll be seeing our new design on your desk soon, I think. We've partnered with your R&D group to integrate the new X-Band radar in that model."

"I look forward to it. Have you been in Colombrador long?"

Traci looked at Genevieve with a brilliant smile. "Couple of years. For as long as she'll have me."

Genevieve answered with a smile of her own, and locked fingers with Traci. Their affection was plain to see, and he felt a twinge of envy. "We need to be on our way home," Genevieve said. "I have an early day, but Traci has her car. Can we give you a lift?

Jensen needed to think, so he begged off and nodded a farewell, mulling over who best to call in. If, as seemed likely, there was embezzlement, then there was also bribery and OFAC voluntary disclosures were a pain in the ass, but his in-house counsel could... he rubbed his eyes. The legal team he wanted was done for the day and would handle it in the morning. He had a half a beer in his hand and a dance floor of pretty people to watch, and those opportunities didn't come along often. He shifted to face away from the bar, leaning against it to push at the knot of tension in the middle of his back, and let himself be, for a moment, just another guy with a semi-hard on, watching bodies on display.

It was a hell of a display, too. For all the gyration and bared skin, one man caught his eye. He was tall and attractive, muscular, with dark hair flopping in his eyes. He was dancing in a group of people; the way he moved his hips made Jensen straighten up and take notice. He didn't spot evidence of a partner anywhere, and he was looking. The guy appeared to be American, his neat but faded paisley shirt tucked into jeans washed pale, shuffling in well-worn brown boots. If Jensen had a dream man, and he assured himself that he did not, this would be what he looked like, provided, of course, that he had extraordinary eyes. Some shade of blue, he thought. The music changed to an up-tempo number, and a conga line formed spontaneously.

As it passed the bar, the man broke out of the line, laughing, breathless, and came to the bar, leaning on the polished wood next to him. He ordered a Postobon, and turned his head to flash a brilliant smile at Jensen.

"Hey."

"Hi." Jensen returned, registering the maelstrom of his eyes. Damn.

"English!"

Jensen laughed. "American."

"Yeah, I meant you speak English. Spanish is beautiful, but it's nice to hear the sound of home." He tilted his head. "I'm Jared."

Jensen crooked a finger at the bartender and tapped his Imperial, then pointed at Jared. Jared raised his Postobon and at Jensen's quirked eyebrow he shrugged and said, "I'm flying in the morning."

"Huh." Jensen almost lost his train of thought thinking about those legs folded up in a coach seat. "Nice to meet you. I can hear Texas in there, you visiting?"

"Working. You?" He took a long swallow of his soft drink.

Jensen watched his throat work, as he tipped the bottle and gulped greedily. He took a slower sip of his beer, aware of his lips around the neck of the bottle, of the suggestion in the act. "Business." He licked his bottom lip and was gratified to see Jared's eyes flicker.

"Tie was sort of a giveaway." Jared's long fingers reached toward the Windsor knot, but he drew back. "I'll let you do that. It's a beautiful tie."

Jensen pulled off the offending tie, and wrapped it around the fingers of his other hand. He slid the fall of silk into the pocket of the jacket hung on the back of his stool, never dropping his gaze from Jared's, and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. He watched Jared's eyes go dark with something Jensen hoped was want. This was unexplored territory for him; when he wanted sex, not that it was often, he bought it. This was new, and not even slightly familiar. He drew a long shuddering breath, and turned his attention back to his drink.

Jared traced a line softly onto his hand with his long graceful fingers, and Jensen trembled at the contact, desire burning in every nerve. He felt more solid, more real than he'd ever felt in an intimate moment. He looked up at Jared, nostrils flaring, heart pounding a mile a minute. The conga ended, and laughing dancers crowded the bar to slake their thirst. The music became softer and slower. Jared looked shaken too, and took his hand, turning the palm up to rest open in his own. "I... do you want to dance? Because I need to touch more of you."

Jensen was breathless at the thought, and nodded, without dropping his gaze. Touching sounded like a very good idea, even if he'd never danced with a man before. "I... I've never..."

"You gonna let me lead?" asked Jared.

Jensen thought at that moment he'd follow Jared anywhere.

On the dance floor, Jared tugged Jensen flush to his long torso, and Jensen could feel Jared was definitely interested. The swirling lights heightened the other-worldliness of the moment, and Jensen let himself drift, melt into Jared's space. He didn't feel soft, or frail; he didn't feel self-conscious or wrong. His hands sat lightly on Jared's hips, and Jared's breath was soft at his ear. It was as if they were the only people in the world.

The song changed, and Jensen straightened, but the music stayed slow and languorous. Jared reached a hand up to Jensen's cheek. It felt unexpectedly intimate in the crowded club. Something about this felt so right, and Jared's honest laugh brought an answering smile.

Jared's head tilted down, lips soft at the corner of Jensen's mouth, as if he were asking permission, and Jensen opened to him, breathless, when a hand came down on Jensen's shoulder to get his attention. Jared bristled, and Jensen turned, registering the presence of his bodyguard and translator.

There's no way Peter could be explained away as anything else, earpiece in plain sight, and the cut of his suit was not quite good enough to conceal his obvious handgun. Jared's eyes went wide as he noticed it, and he started to turn Jensen so he stood in front of him. Jensen raised his hand to clasp Jared's at his jaw, and whispered, "It's business." He blinked to come back to himself and walked to the side of the dance floor. Jensen folded his arms and glared wordlessly at Peter.

"I'm sorry, Jensen," said Peter, "I'm all for you having a good time, but I can't do my job if I don't have you safe."

"I texted you with the address."

"You left the management team--and oooh, they are going to have hangovers in the morning--to come somewhere that hasn't been vetted. You don't know this place, or the Incredible Hulk, out there."

"I may have to kill you for interrupting this." Jensen blinked again. It was the closest he'd ever come to honesty with Peter, and he wasn't sure what brought him to blurt that out.

"Jensen, keeping you safe is the biggest part of my job. This place is pretty shady. There are at least three heavies from the Otto Cartel in here; I recognized them from the dossier. Come on, let's get you back to the hotel where I can keep you safe. Like you pay me to do. For your job? You can bring your friend back with you."

"He's none of your business."

"My point exactly. It is totally my _business._ "

"Stop. Right there. Stop." Jensen was angry and distracted, and startled by Jared popping up behind Peter with a questioning look and a hardness about him. Peter had implied he might be dangerous. Jensen could see the potential for it in him.

Peter shifted sideways like he'd known Jared was there all along, and he probably had, in spite of the driving music behind them. What had been a lustful heartbeat was now all noise, and Jensen felt the ice water splash of unexpectedly waking from a good dream. He shook his head at Jared's wordless inquiry. "I'm sorry. I... can't, and I can't explain. I'm sorrier than you know, Jared, but I just can't." He turned away from the bewildered expression on Jared's face and nodded at Peter. "Let's go."

Jensen stopped at the bar to close his tab and pick up his jacket. He wished Jared had taken off his tie, so he'd at least have that memory of touch. He didn't know anymore about the man than his first name. Maybe it was best that way, so he wouldn't be tempted--Jensen cut off his own thought. Done was done.

Peter preceded him out the door and waved him into the waiting car. He was silent until they got to the hotel, then after sweeping Jensen's room, turned to him and said, "There's another reason I was looking for you. Plane's down. Lucy's grounding it until she can verify the work, but we're on a charter in the morning instead. Wheels up at eight."

"We can wait here until she's... oh, no, we can't. The Northrup Grumman meeting at three. Right, charter it is--it's got wireless?"

"Yes, boss."

  


Jared watched the two men walk away, his shoulders slumped in disappointment. There had been something about Jensen, the spark of attraction, sure, but something more, something so visceral it almost hurt to see him go. He wondered if they would ever meet again; the world was so damned big, and he didn't even know Jensen's last name.

Looking around the bar, he decided there was no reason to stay any longer. He walked the short distance to his apartment in the steamy night. The blocks passed quickly, and he let himself into the quiet coolness of the dark hallway. Closing the apartment door behind him, he looked around it with displeasure and a sigh. By design, there was nothing to reveal anything about him except maybe the king sized bed, which was sadly not filled with Jensen. Dammit, he wanted someone to come home to. Maybe he could leave soon; he hadn't been able to find the information he needed. It was probably another dead end.

He checked his pack to be sure he had everything he needed for his days off in Playa Blanca, turned off the lights and went to his empty bed. Green eyes flecked with brown haunted him, and instead of sleeping, his mind replayed the conversation, the dance with Jensen, and he craved the feel of that solid warmth next to him. It made him toss and turn until his right hand finally took pity on him.

The alarm rang early. Jared groaned, and swung his legs out of bed. He sat there for a moment, head in hands, and reviewed his day. Milk run to Cartagena, two days hiking at Playa Blanca, it would be just what he needed to clear his head. He really needed to forget about Jensen, no matter what his libido said. Best to keep him in a safe and secret fantasy; it was too dangerous to be distracted, and he had to fly today.

It wasn't until he arrived at the hangar that Roger Brown, the dispatcher, filled him in on the schedule changes. The Richings' Gulfstream sat on the tarmac, waiting for her passengers to board. It was a plane he usually flew, but the Richings' nephew had gotten his pilot's license, and didn't like Jared, five years his junior, captaining the flight. Brown said, "Change in the roster. Richings is taking the family to the bloodstock auctions." He dropped the paperwork in his hand onto the desk. "I hear there was a threat against him. Don't blame him for getting out for awhile." With a wry grin, he added, "You should quit pissing off the clients, kid.”

Jared snorted. "Right. _I_ would be the one to piss off your best clients.”

Brown looked down at his paperwork, then back at Jared. “Listen, I had to put you in the Lear. Second is Titus." He flashed Jared a look. "Best pilot I've got, kid. Can you just do this for me, please?"

Sighing once, for form, Jared nodded. No hiking near the Playa, but a charter, to Dallas, overnight and deadhead back. He went to the locker room, where he kept a uniform for when he had to fly people instead of produce. Just as routine, simply a different outfit. He crammed the cargo shorts he'd been wearing into his backpack anyway. It was sure to be warm in Dallas.

He shook off his mood as he approached the Learjet. She was a beautiful thing, sleek and black with the upturned wingtips that were Jared's secret joke. He waggled his right hand and whispered, "Hook 'em, Horns" before starting the exterior check.

  


Jensen stepped into the hangar, towing his roll-along, laptop slung over his shoulder, and thumb-texting his assistant, Susan, on his Blackberry. He hadn't slept, uncomfortable in his own skin. He wasn't happy with how he'd acted at the club, wasn't happy with Peter, wasn't happy with how he'd left the guy at the bar, wasn't happy with the management team, and most of all he wasn't happy with what he'd seen in the mirror that morning. He was just plain cranky, and Susan had flagged 60 emails for his personal attention. He couldn't wait to get on the plane and get to work. At least no one would distract him in the air, and when he got home and resolved Colombrador, he would think about how he'd let easy and safe become his life away from the office.

"Jensen," asked Peter, quietly. "Isn't that the guy from the club?"

Jensen looked up from his PDA to see that Jared looked just as good from the back as he did from the front. He made a hand gesture and Jensen blinked when he realized Jared must've gone to UT. When he turned around and Jensen saw the pilot's bars at his shoulders, Jensen remembered his comment about flying the next day. His silence was as good as an admission to Peter as he clenched his teeth.

  


Jared turned around with his best professional smile. His eyes widened, and his smile grew more personal as he saw it was Jensen and his bodyguard. He'd worried about never seeing him again throughout his fitful sleep, and here he was. Jared didn't intend to let him slip away a second time. When their eyes met, Jensen's went wide with what Jared thought was fear, and he hesitated, letting the professional smile drop back into place. Relying on the good manners he'd been taught from an early age, Jared ushered his passengers on board, stowing their luggage in the aft bay, hiding a smirk as he nestled Jensen's bag next to his own backpack. He wasn't positive that bodyguard didn't also mean jealous lover, and he had no intention of causing any trouble.

There was an opened flat of Gatorade on the counter in the makeshift galley, with one bottle missing. Jared frowned. Titus should have iced them, but they were at least still cold. He had opened up the cooler to stow them, when the bodyguard put a hand on his shoulder.

"Can I have one of those, please? I'm off caffeine."

"Certainly. One for--" Jared tipped his head in Jensen's direction.

"Nah, he's got coffee."

"There's more here, in the carafe," offered Jared.

"Thanks," said the bodyguard. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

Jared looked at him, questioningly.

"He doesn't do that, not as long as I've worked for him."

Jared nodded and wondered what "that" was, and if "I've never" meant something more than a dance. He spared a regretful thought over those lips, because really, he did want that guy. At least he could get Jensen's information off the manifest. With a shrug, he made his way forward to the cockpit.

"Hey, Titus."

The co-pilot nodded hello and finished stowing his boots behind his seat. It was his quirk, everyone knew it, and Jared shook his head. Titus sighed and wiggled his toes, then looked over at Jared. "There room for those legs in here, Sky King?"

"I always seem to make them fit."

Titus grinned. _Good_ , Jared thought. Flights got long when your co-pilot didn't joke. At least Titus had a sense of humor. "Nice hat."

Titus tipped the battered fishing hat, making the flash drives linked around the crown shift and clank. "So much better than lures. You know it. Symbols of my independence."

Jared dropped his chin and raised an eyebrow. Titus continued, "I was an IT drone once, wearing a clip on tie and crawling around the feet of fat paper pushers for a tiny little paycheck. Now, I’m a pilot. Freedom. One of these for every place I was ever broke.”

"Well, aren't you a regular success story," teased Jared.

"Heh. You got it, Sky. Now, I got lots of ways of making money." Titus grinned, tapped the hat, chugged from the Gatorade bottle, and pulled out the hanging binder for the pre-flight check.

Jared put on his headphones, verified the navigation plan in the flight management system, and then radioed the tower.

"Bogota Tower, this is King Lear, Hotel Juliet 7 X-ray 22 waiting clearance for takeoff."

"King Lear, this is Flight, you're third in line to go."

"Thank you, Flight. We'll await your word."

Jared switched channels to the cabin intercom.

"Gentlemen, we're third to go, so please stow your personal items for takeoff. We expect a smooth flight, but the possibility for some weather exists as we enter Nicaduran airspace. Please turn off your electronics for takeoff."

He could hear Jensen muttering under his breath, and his own mind filled in, "Blah blah blah."

Jared taxied the plane to the runway, continuing his smooth patter about the flight.

Jensen keyed his intercom. "Tell me when my electronics are safe to turn on. I have work to do."

Jared was taken aback by the abrupt response. “Yes, sir. Flight safety requires passengers to shut down anything with transmission capability.” _Asshole_ he silently added, wondering what he'd seen in the guy at the club last night. It couldn't have been just the lips and freckles.

"King Lear, this is flight. Hotel Juliet 7 X-ray 22 is go. Blue skies."

"Thank you, flight."

Jared felt the engines in every bone of his body, the power collecting until he released it into a burst of speed down the runway. Titus read out the numbers, and Jared lifted the plane to its cruising altitude.

He keyed the cabin intercom. “You can access electronics, however use of any device in the 7 to 12 GHz range is still prohibited. It’s a beautiful morning. You can see the Andes approaching on your right, and the coast of –“

“It’s eleven tonight in South Korea which is where this note is going. The one to a man waiting for an answer before he can go home. Just drive the plane. Let me know when we are an hour out of Dallas.”

“You got it.” Jared shook his head and bit his tongue. The sun bathed the mountains in light and shimmering birds lifted in clouds from the edges of the jungle. The ragged edges of clouds were back-lit, haloed by the sun. He was going to enjoy the flight. Pity about those freckles and lips.

  


"Titus, you feeling okay?" His co-pilot had seemed personable enough at the field, chatty but competent, but he'd strapped in, downed a bottle of Gatorade fast enough to indicate a hangover, and now was sagging in the seat, his eyes glassy and his hands shaking.

"I'm, uh... uh... not feeling good."

"Yeah, I got it, no worries."

"I'm okay to fly, man, really."

 _No, you really aren't_ , thought Jared. "I got it. You wanna go back, hit the head?"

"With Prissy-Britches back there?" Titus rubbed his throat, then his stomach. "Did you piss in his Cheerios or something?" At Jared's startled look, he raised both hands in surrender. "I don't want to know. DADT the good way, dude. I don't _need_ to know. Nah, I'm going to shut my eyes for a second. Radar says we've got something up ahead, just poke me when you need me, okay?"

"You got it."

"Flight, this is Hotel Juliet 7 X-ray 22, we're about to exit your airspace, thanks for your assistance today."

"King Lear this is flight, we're ready to transfer you to Nicaduran control. Blue skies would be good, but you have some weather coming in."

Jared looked at the horizon and checked the instruments again. The edge of the storm was within sensor range, and beginning to close. Jared keyed the mike. Normally he’d lean to the side and just over-enunciate, but Jensen appeared to want distance, and distance was something Jared could do under the circumstances.

“If you’ve got anything loose back there, strap it in. We have some touchy weather ahead.”

“Can’t you fly around it? Or over it?” crackled Jensen's voice in his headset.

“Could if you hired a fighter plane or you don’t mind needing a bail out from the US Department of State. Remembering, of course, that Nicaduras is currently not on Hilary’s Christmas card list.”

“We’re in a plane.”

“We’re using _crappy_ substandard radar out of Panama because the _asinine_ federal policy on Cuba doesn’t let us keep viable radar there and the US thinks the Guantanamo facility is nothing but concrete floors and bad guys, forgetting that it’s got equipment, too."

Jared heard a soft smack and the other intercom blinked. The bodyguard's voice came over it. "We're secure. Thank you, pilot."

Titus lolled in the seat next to him, one hand sliding off his lap to dangle in the doorway in full view of the seats behind him. Jared winced. "Thank you," said Jared. "My co-pilot's not feeling very well, so it's just me up here."

Titus grunted as Jared eased into a banked turn to slide over part of the shifting clouds before him. Jared glanced over to Titus to see him clutch weakly at his throat, then foam at the mouth and go completely limp.

From the control panel, an alarm flashed, then beeping sounded, and Jared had to fight controls that were trying to fly the plane on their own. This was absolutely not supposed to be happening, he thought, suppressing the urge to panic. Fuel pressure plummeted, and a cloud of vapor trailed behind the plane. "Flight? Come in, flight?" Jared heard nothing but static.

"What’s that noise?" asked Jensen.

"Nothing good. Trying to fly, here."

"What happened to it’s a beautiful day?"

Jared was thinking the same when Jensen's intercom cut out. Jared could hear him a moment later, live, right behind him. He was shouting, "Peter! My God, Peter!"

  


Pellegrino and Roche scanned the horizon, hands shading their eyes, and Morgan barely kept himself from rolling his own. He stood at the front wheel well of the H3 and tapped command lines into the laptop sitting on the hood. The cursor blinked lazily at him and he bit back sharp responses to the casual blowharding of the men milling about. They were petty henchmen and minions and none was pettier than their employer. Frewer wanted the control system for a toy, to fight his little turf battles and steal his competitors' cargo. Morgan wanted what was on that plane. It would give him the Otto cartel, and he could take Frewer's organization from him at will; all the pieces were in place already. Money and power. Toys and turf wars were for gangsters, not businessmen.

Morgan frowned as the laptop beeped twice, then once, then flashed the stripped down GUI he'd had Wisdom build as the override kicked in. He guided the plane into its new course with careful keystrokes, wishing for a moment that Frewer hadn't been the one to suggest the video game controller. He'd rejected the idea out of hand because of the source, but it would've been simple enough for his IT guy to modify and easier than the too small laptop keyboard and touchpad.

He dumped the fuel and set the new flight path before he straightened to look east as the plane came out of the storm and flew towards them, or, more exactly, towards the airstrip behind them. Morgan suppressed a smile. Just like it was supposed to be.

  


"Flight, this is King Lear, please respond. Flight, this is Hotel Juliet 7 X-ray 22, we have a situation, come in? Come on, flight, my co-pilot is incapacitated--"

Jensen staggered the few steps to the cockpit. The plane was bucking under his feet. He grabbed the doorway, clutching it hard enough to press the metal edge into his palm. "My translator is--what seems to be the trouble?" Jared - no, the pilot - he reminded himself, was ripping free part of the dash. "Is it the nav? Maybe I can help." There wasn't enough room to reach over and he brushed against the co-pilot's arm. He glanced down, an apology on his lips, then looked again. The man's eyes were partially open, and the foam around his mouth looked like Peter's. Jensen felt for the pulse on his neck, then drew back, shaking his head.

Jared had one hand on the yoke, but was leaning forward, tugging free components from the panel. "I no longer have flight, the controls aren't responding, something's flushed most of the fuel out of the tanks, I'm trying to sort out... well, hello..." Jared pulled a small box out of the dash, and Jensen looked out the window to see a runway ahead in the pouring rain. He pointed at it and saw Jared twitch. "You have any desire to land on that strip?"

Jensen pulled the box from Jared's hand, and together they looked out the window and saw a jeep surrounded by armed men. One was pointing an antenna at the plane. "That's a remote, isn't it?" he asked, absentmindedly unscrewing the base plate with his thumbnail.

"Yup, and it wants us to land there. What's in your hands is a..."

"UAV flight control, yeah," Jensen answered. "Get ready. You're about to lose your autopilot." He flicked free the wiring from the solder points as Jared braced himself to pull against the yoke.

  


The little plane shuddered and Morgan's computer spat out nonsensical code before flickering back to the start screen. He swore and bent back to the keyboard in haste, pounding on the fender when there was no reconnect. "Fuck. Lost it."

Pellegrino let out a roar of frustration, dropped the antenna and swung the Keltec Bullpup 308 off his back and into the air, emptying the magazine at the plane.

Hot brass sprayed across the H3, the laptop and Morgan, who jumped and cursed while he tried frantically to regain control. "You stupid motherfucker," he swore. It was the only weapon among them that could actually damage the aircraft. Pellegrino laughed and shook the gun over his head as the plane sheared off sharply to the north, one engine smoking. Morgan's laptop went bluescreen, and he needed someone to blame. He drew the Colt from the back band at his waist and shot Pellegrino in the head without another word.

Everyone flinched at the noise save Morgan himself and Collins, who never flinched. "Do not shoot at the plane," he spat. "We want the plane and we... _I_... need what's on-board intact. Are all the rest of my little angels clear on that?" He raised the Colt and waited for the body to stop twitching before he looked around.

Collins knelt next to the body, stripping Pellegrino of his weapons, while he prayed over him and wound a rosary between the dead man's fingers. Speight and Cohen looked at each other; Pellegrino's blood and brains, still wet, were splattered all over them. They turned to Morgan and nodded in unison. Collins pointed into the sky. "Your bird's flying away."

Morgan cursed again and holstered his gun. If the plane was flying, someone onboard was still alive. He admired the hell out of any pilot who could successfully keep that thing aloft. It wouldn't be in the air long, but maybe the pilot was good enough to land it where it wouldn't be too hard to find. Pity that pilot had to die.

The plume of smoke grew larger, streaming from the starboard engine, as the plane started a rapid descent. The port engine flamed out. Morgan kicked Pellegrino's body, looked at his remaining men, and said, "Get rid of that. Take his fucking guns. We have a plane to find. Let's move."

They stood staring at him and he sighed. "First one to spot the aircraft gets to keep the RFB." Collins immediately climbed into the H3, leaving Speight and Cohen in the open Jeep.

  


Jared steadied the yoke and ignored the slither of wire over his thighs as Jensen tugged the wiring free from the dash, then let it drop to dangle freely. The plane twitched under his hands like a restive horse as he regained control. He had her moved back to the north in an easy veer when something hit the windshield and the nose of the plane, too small for birds, too big for any of the rain drops hitting the windshield like pellets. The tempered glass cracked and he couldn't keep from gaping in surprise, even as the lightning flashed. The panel in front of him sparked, and an engine flamed out.

"Brace yourself, this is going to get ugly."

"We passed the runway back there, maybe--no, away from the guns is good."

"We couldn't set down there now, anyway, I can't turn--crap. Just lost the second engine."

"We're not going to make it to the border?"

"We're not going to stay in the air. Hang on!"

He rolled the controls, trying to let the shape of the Lear 60 carry them just a bit farther from that unmarked airstrip and whoever controlled the UAV override that was whipping by its remaining cords from the panel. He thought it was a good thing they were in the Lear. The Gulfstream would have fallen like a rock, but the Lear would at least glide a little.

The engine sputtered its last and the plane went down. The deafening scream of shearing metal as the plane slid through the treetops drowned out Jared's muttering, and the plane took its first bounce against the trunk of a large tree.

Jensen slammed into the control panel, instinctively thrusting out his arm to break his fall, and let out a cry. He clutched at his wrist with his other hand, obviously in pain. Jared gathered him up, wrist cradled between them, tucking Jensen's head under his chin, to keep him from flying back into the cabin--or out the window--as the plane tipped sideways, losing a wing and sliding through the trees until it came to its final rest. With a last shriek, the weight of the remaining wing pulled the cabin back upright.

Jared was breathing like he'd run a marathon, and Jensen was in no better shape. When he lifted his head to look, Jared could only see a sliver of color around his blown pupils. He couldn't help himself. His mouth dropped onto Jensen's in a kiss to celebrate that they were alive in spite of everything. To his surprise, Jensen kissed him back, and that jolt of absolute right was still there. It ran all the way from Jared's mouth to his toes. He broke the kiss still panting, and buried his head in the crook of Jensen's neck. When the pounding of their hearts slowed, he drew back to look at Jensen again.

Jared smiled ruefully, "Looks like we're not going to make Dallas on time."

"What happened there?" asked Jensen softly, studying Jared's face.

"Best guess? Someone tried to take radio control of the plane. That’s a transponder. They cut our communications, emptied the tanks, shot at us, and we crashed. If we hadn't found and disabled that unit," he nodded at the little box, still swinging from some wires, "they could have flown this thing like a UAV anywhere they wanted."

"Only if we were dead first."

Jared glanced at the foamy-mouthed co-pilot, “I think they had a plan for that." He jerked his head at Titus. "Co-pilot's--"

"Dead," said Jensen, flatly. "Peter's dead, too. That's what I started forward to tell you."

"My guess is cyanide."

"What?"

"The symptoms are right. Someone wants this plane--or something that's on it--for something." He shuddered and held Jensen tighter. "I almost lost the chance at you a second time."

Jensen traced Jared's lower lip with his index finger and watched Jared's eyes go dark. "There is no chance at me," he said, sadly. Jared let him go in confusion and Jensen scrambled out of the pilot's seat and stood, wincing as he tried to use his right hand to balance. Jared wondered what the hell that meant, because his libido had already decided that a lapful of Jensen was worth putting up with his Prissy-Britches attitude.

He shrugged out of his harness and picked up the box that had been wired into the dash. He glanced at his co-pilot's body, wondering if was there something he could have done to prevent his death, something he should have noticed sooner. No, he stopped the thought. He had to focus in the here and now, to get to safety. He followed Jensen aft, kicking bottles from the broken cooler out of their way.

Jared pulled open a compartment and started to strip.

"What are you doing?" asked Jensen.

"Changing clothes." Jared thought it was the most natural thing in the world, and wondered if Jensen had sustained a head injury, since he knew the man wasn't stupid. "Damned if I'm walking through the jungle in a polyester pilot's uniform."

Jensen rocked in place and held his wrist up high, against his shoulder.

"How bad is it?" asked Jared.

Jensen looked at him as if he hadn't understood the words, and Jared stopped, pulled on his cargo pants, and realized Jensen might be in shock. He slowed and softened his tone. "You're hurt. Let me look at that."

Jensen narrowed his eyes. "What, are you a doctor, now?"

"No, but I have made use of everything I learned in first aid class. Except birthing babies. You're not pregnant, are you?" Jensen didn't answer, but he obediently held out his wrist, staring past Jared at Peter's body. Jared took it gently, probing and listening for the sharp intake of breath that told him what hurt. "I don't think it's broken, but you fucked it up good. Pretty sure it's a sprain; let's get it wrapped for support, at least. It'll be a while before you can expect professional medical care."

He followed the track of Jensen's eyes, and then cursed his own insensitivity. He walked to the compartment that held the blankets and first aid kit, brought the kit to the seat opposite Jensen's, and covered the dead man with the blanket.

"Thank you," said Jensen, finally looking down at his wrist.

"I'm sorry about your friend."

"Not my friend, my bodyguard." He put his off hand over his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Don't have friends."

"Oh. I thought maybe..." he trailed off.

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe he was your lover."

Jensen barked a rueful laugh. "Peter was my translator and bodyguard. No love lost between us."

"Oh. The way you left last--never mind." Jared changed the subject. "You should change, too. Got jeans or something else that will breathe?"

"Not really. Business trip. What do you mean 'walking through the jungle'?"

"Sweats, maybe? You didn't get that body without spending some time in the gym." He grinned at Jensen's shocked look, and continued, ignoring the question. "Look, that bespoke suit ain't gonna do you much good out here. Please tell me you don't sleep in that."

Jensen shed the jacket angrily. "Business trip," he said through gritted teeth. "My bag's--did you put it in the luggage bay, can we get at that?"

"I doubt it, there's no bay on this plane." He looked up through floppy bangs. "I was kind of focused on pre-flight when you walked into the hangar, so I stowed it with mine, here." He pulled Jensen's rollaway out of the compartment and dropped it on the seat near him. "You must be used to planes with a different configuration."

Jensen stared at the blanket covered form with new horror. "Oh no, I think he and Lucy--"

"Lucy?"

"My regular pilot. She's with my plane that's in repair back in Bogotá. You don't think--she could be in trouble!"

Jared looked thoughtful. "When did you schedule this flight?"

"Last night. I have an appointment with--" He snorted. "Wow. Schedule wiped clean. My next appointment is with the embassy, isn't it? Or first aid, if I'm lucky."

"Jensen, I don't think you're a target. The transponder has to have been in place for at least two days, and the plane's been in service constantly since then. It would take a couple of hours in secret to install it. I got pulled onto the flight this morning; I thought I was doing the milk run to Cartagena." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Jensen, thinking. "Private plane? Who are you, anyway?"

"Apparently, I'm the victim of a plane crash."

"Seriously."

"I'm the CEO of Ackles Navigation. With a bodyguard due to serious and verified threats of abduction and other violence. Now," he looked at Jared, "I'm at your mercy."

"I'll get us out, keep us safe." Jared's look hardened. "Keep you safe."

  


"Did you eat or drink anything on-board?"

"No, I had my coffee. Are you sure? I mean, not to be self-important, but there's an entire industry of kidnapping for income in some countries."

"I saw Titus drinking a bottle from that flat." Jared pointed at the bottles of Gatorade spilled from the broken cooler and rolling all over the carpet. "I brought my own drink, you had coffee. Your -" Jared took a breath. "Peter took a Gatorade from me." Jensen nodded. "Poison doesn't equate with ransom. We didn't drink any, so we haven't been poisoned, but we're not taking a chance on any of the drinks on the plane. Whatever it is they're looking for, we don't want to be anywhere near this plane."

Jensen looked at him incredulously. "All the courses say to stay where you are and let them find you. We just have to tough it out until they come looking for us. They'll follow the flight plan; the transponder sends a signal when it’s kicked hard. Easy."

"Courses?" asked Jared. He guessed he shouldn't be surprised that someone with a bodyguard had bothered with personal safety and survival courses, but it was another interesting thing about Jensen. "Are all the 'courses' in possession of all the facts?" He gestured at the UAV control hanging from the panel.

"Well, no, but -"

"Jensen we have to go _now_. Do you want to be around when they come for the plane? We know what they did."

"You make a valid point."

Jared went forward again and pulled a portfolio out of a pocket at the back of his seat. He looked at it, undecided.

"Little reading material?"

"Charts." Jared frowned. "I don't know, I guess we can always use them for kindling if they're useless."

"Charts... like maps? Maps are good."

"Maps _are_ good. Except these are Jepps, for flying, not so much for topography or surface navigation."

Jared opened compartments and pulled anything useful out and left the rest.

"We're in the jungle. What are you going to do with all those space blankets?"

"Shelter." He held them up.

Jensen reached automatically with his right hand. "Right, ow!"

"You okay?"

"Better than Peter."

"I'm sorry, man."

Jensen waved away the comment. "No real galley in a Lear, but, aha!" He slid a small panel aside. "We've got peanuts, and a case of Gatorade that we can't trust." He barked a laugh. "Minibar's full."

"Typical for a charter. Five hour flight. First aid kit's right there on the seat--"

"I'm looking at it. Though I'll warn you now..."

"Don't tell me it's empty!" said Jared indignantly, as he turned to the head.

"No, actually, I was going to say I have no idea what we want."

"Fuck. There's only the one roll of toilet paper." He came back and rummaged through the kit. "Tylenol and DEET. Oh, and condoms." He waggled his eyebrows and flipped to the other side. "Oh good, splint, elastic bandage, everything we need for your wrist."

"Tylenol?" asked Jensen. He reached for the packets.

Jared slid his hand to the back of the seat and crouched in the aisle, rummaging in the first aid kit across from Jensen, tearing tape with his teeth. He left a neat row of tape strips ready to go on the arm of the broken leather seat opposite him, and gave Jensen's hand a gentle squeeze. "Let's get you out of that shirt."

Jensen looked at him with wide eyes.

"I'm going to have to splint that wrist now. I can give you something strong for the pain if you want."

Jensen shook his head, and tried to unbutton his shirt, but his right hand would not cooperate. He grunted in frustration.

Jared leaned closer, well within Jensen's personal space, and undid the buttons. Jensen was breathing rapidly – was it just from pain and shock? And if Jared kept thinking like that, he'd do more harm than good, so he kept his eyes resolutely on the shirt buttons, and tried to pretend his hands weren't shaking. Maybe Jensen wouldn't notice.

Pushing the dress shirt off Jensen's shoulder, Jared settled him back in the seat and took his wrist as gently as he could, watching Jensen's eyes for signs of pain. They were a different color this morning, lighter green, more brown flecks. Jared scolding himself and filed the memory along with lips and freckles. Talking through what he was doing, he wrapped Jensen's wrist with soft gauze, and gently placed the splint under it. A roll of bandages went under his palm, making his hand arch, and Jensen winced at the pull of the injured muscles and tendons. Jared kept talking, nonsense words, low and soft, like he was gentling a frightened puppy. He finished wrapping the elastic bandage around the splint, and brushed a kiss over the tips of Jensen's fingers.

The summer wool trousers did nothing to camouflage Jensen's reaction.

"Is that for me?" asked Jared, mischief lighting his eyes.

"No," answered Jensen flatly. "I don't... I'm not..." he stammered.

Jared rocked back on his heels, noting the blush creeping up Jensen’s neck. "You know we’re in the jungle," he said, thoughtfully.

"Your point?" asked Jensen, still not meeting his eyes.

"A hundred miles from anyone." Jared thought he was getting the lay of the land pretty clearly.

"Probably closer to whoever brought down the plane," snapped Jensen.

"Okay, yeah, whatever,” said Jared, waving a hand, “I’m saying that there are no closets here."

"There will be when we get out. Reporters, board meetings, stockholders, IPO –" He trailed off.

Jared wondered if Jensen knew what he’d confessed. "So, you just, what, turn it off?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"No, I just don’t turn it on."

Jared’s pulse pounded like the remembered backbeat at the club. "Could've fooled me," he mused, thinking of the warm length of Jensen he’d held in his arms, and how much he still wanted him.

"Are we done here?" asked Jensen, impatiently.

Jared looked at the splint, and then at Jensen's lap, with a smirk. "So not done here."

"Your bedside manner is entirely inappropriate," Jensen chided, his cheeks stained red.

"You're not _in_ a bed," said Jared. "You gonna change, or walk in those clothes?" Jared unzipped Jensen's case and flipped it open. He looked at Peter's shrouded form, then grabbed another blanket and went to the cockpit.

When he came back, Jensen was wearing a t-shirt and sweats that looked – and smelled - slightly used

"Here, take his hat.” Jared threw Titus' hat to Jensen. "What size are your feet?"

“Ew, no. I've got my gym shoes."

"They look... um... delicate? And expensive. The boots will cover your ankles and lower legs in case you step on a snake."

"They're three year old Adidas Micropacers, I don't remember what I paid for them, and I'm not wearing a dead man's boots. This discussion is now closed."

"Jensen." Jared looked at him disapprovingly.

Jensen sighed. "What size are they?"

"Seven."

Jensen snorted. "Maybe for Cinderella."

"Fine." Jared bent to tie Jensen's shoes, then reached into his backpack and slid a big Ziploc out to check the contents.

"What's that?"

"Survival kit."

"You carry a survival kit?"

"Never leave home without it. Flashlight, compass, large knife, that kind of thing." He grinned at Jensen. "I carry a Swiss Army Knife and duct tape, too. I was going hiking near Cartagena when I got swapped to your flight. Did you bring sunscreen?"

“For a flight to Dallas?”

“You know that you can actually get a third degree sunburn? Welcome to the tropics. With those freckles, I'll bet you burn." He thought for a minute about where else Jensen might have freckles, blinked and went back to first aid kit. "Here, there isn't much, but what there is, is SPF50. What are you doing?"

Jensen rummaged on the floor for his laptop. "Dammit. I _need_ some of this data."

"You're not going to get a connection. Your aircard is pining for the fjords, too."

"I was thinking more along the lines of records of who we are and the most efficient way to access banking, unless you were planning to get to the nearest city and sweet talk the mayor into a job as a barkeep for pesos. Also, the company has these pesky trade secrets I'm supposed to keep safe. Worth millions?”

“For the record, I have tended bar for pesos. Think. You're the one wearing a hatful of flash drives!"

"You'd prefer fishing lures?"

“One of them might have space." He snatched the hat off Jensen's head and studied the chain. "Who knew Titus had a thing for the shiny? That’s not just a rhinestone bauble. Lookit.” He slid his thumb on the underside of crystal-covered ladybug in his hands, and the familiar rectangle of a USB adapter poked from the back end. “The ladybug poops data.”

Jensen paused, blinked, and shook his head. “Okay, now I can’t unsee it. Who would use a rhinestone covered jump drive?”

“Teen girls writing Twilight fanfic in study hall on school computers? And my aunt, who has one like that.”

Jensen snatched the hat back. “This is a 4 Gig, and this one is an 8, but this is only 1250 Meg. How many gigs of data are on this thing?” He turned the hat in his hands.

“Enough to keep it on your head in a breeze, I’m hoping." Jared grinned when he saw the tiniest drive. "Here, this one's a micro," he said as he tugged it free of the hat. "If it's not full, it'll do the trick. It's called a mosquito. The only good kind of mosquito in the jungle. Real ones carry malaria, but this one," he handed it over, "will apparently carry banking info and corporate secrets. Don't forget to download your little black book."

Jensen snatched it from his hand, replying absently, "Don't have one." He slipped the cap off, slid the tiny drive into the socket with exaggerated care, then hit a few keys.

Jared toed out of his dress shoes and stripped his dress socks, studying Jensen all the while. No panic, that was good, and the prissiness seemed to have gone as well. He pulled thick athletic socks on and laced the hiking boots that had been in his pack.

"Overwriting the data on the hard drive. We good to head out? I'm never leaving civilization again."

"Put on your dress shirt. You want all the protection from bugs we can get," Jared advised. "Passport, ID?"

Jensen shrugged on the shirt and took his wallet out of the discarded suit jacket. "No pockets."

Jared held up his own identification, and slid both sets into his back pocket.

Jensen glared at the flash drive in his hand. "Where am I going to put this?"

"Back on the hat? It's on a clip. Use it as a zipper pull."

"Yeah. Very exclusive, moisture-wicking sweatpants, no zipper."

Jared grinned. "'S what I like about cargo shorts. Lots of pockets." He clipped the drive onto the back pocket zipper of his cargo shorts and zipped it closed. "There, now our identification is all in one spot, and you can keep an eye on it. Or my ass. Let’s get moving.”

"Seriously? First you crashed a plane in the middle of the jungle and now you're flirting?"

Raising an eyebrow, Jared said, "I was flirting when I found the condoms. I'll have to remember you lack an innuendo detector."

"No, I just keep it turned off."

"No innuendo detector, no black book. Libido switched off. Do you even have a life?"

"Easier to keep it professional. Out of town, for hire, means out of sight and out of mind. I have my reasons."

"Did you think I was a prostitute?

"I think you were a mistake." Jensen tried for nonchalant. "I'm a confirmed bachelor."

"Dude, that went out with spats and ascots." Jensen frowned, and Jared back-pedaled. "Are we still pretending we haven't met?"

Jensen grimaced. "Jensen. As you know."

"So, Jensen. No nickname?"

"No."

"No?"

"Last time someone called me 'Jenny', I was nine." He looked thoughtful. "Had to learn to pitch left that summer."

Jared just looked at him.

"I told him to quit, he shoved me into the bleachers and broke my arm, I broke his nose."

"Jensen it is."

  


Hauling ass through a steaming jungle was nothing like working out in the gym. Jensen was hot and sweating within moments of leaving the plane. It wasn't just humidity, either; actual streams of water flowed off of every other low-hanging leaf. _I suppose that's why they call it a rain forest,_ Jensen thought.

Jared paused near one of the leaves, fiddling with their supplies. "What are you doing?" Jensen asked.

"Filling this water bag." Jared held the wide mouth of his collapsible water bottle under the torrent pouring off the leaf.

"Great! I am kind of thirsty."

Jared dropped two tablets into the bag and shook it. "Won't be safe to drink for about a half hour."

"It's rain water," Jensen protested.

"Sure is. Coming off a banana leaf. Who knows what it's washing off of there. Monkey shit, probably. Let the water purification tablets do their thing."

"How many of those tablets do we have?"

"We'll be fine, Jensen, just concentrate on moving."

"I'm not five, Jared. I know you're the expert, but -"

"Two tablets to a quart of water. We need about a gallon of water a day, apiece. We'll get some of that from fruit. I have 48 more tablets."

Jensen did quick math. "Four quarts to a gallon. That's about three days worth."

"Yup. You should be safely back in your boardroom by then."

"If not?"

"Lot of things we can do."

"Like what? What if we run out?" Jensen was genuinely curious. He couldn't figure out why he wasn't in a full on panic, but Jared seemed to know what he was doing.

"We can boil it, use a solar filter."

Jensen snorted. "You can probably make a water purifier from two credit cards and a piece of glass."

"One credit card, a piece of glass, a length of plastic tubing and a salad spinner," Jared said. "I bet you can convert currency in your head and keep track of time zones without a fancy watch."

"Better, I can even convert to Daylight Savings Time without stuttering."

"See, and I put the wrong year on my checks until February each year."

"Online bill paying. Make it easy on yourself."

They tromped in friendly silence for a moment. Jensen paused at a clear space and stood with his mouth open to the sky. Rain pulled his hair back and he shook his head, slinging water around before rubbing his palm over his scalp and slicking it backwards one handed. He could hear the PR director's wince and grinned.

"So you're a boy scout who can recognize a UAV transceiver when it's covered in soot."

"You were behind me and you spotted it, too," said Jared.

Jensen gave him a look, then shook his head and laughed. "Yeah, I know UAVs. It's the business."

"I thought you were an executive. Now you're an engineer?"

"I’m head of a family-owned business that makes navigational equipment for boats, trains, and planes."

"Huh, which means you type a hundred words a minute and can understand a stock portfolio. Bet you can't build a solar water purifier, even if I spot you the salad spinner."

"Ninety words a minute and I can discuss the ramification of the QRS11 ITAR ruling with a law firm until your eyes glaze. Actually, my record for that is fifteen seconds, but I was talking to a patent lawyer so he was halfway there when I started. If you're spotting me the spinner, let's up the challenge and make a still, instead. Agave grows in Mexico."

"Mexico’s north of here."

"How far?"

"We’ll find out."

Jensen blinked. "Are we seriously walking to Mexico? "

"Don’t be silly. We’re walking to Costa Domingo. It’s closer."

"Thank goodness we have a plan."

"I've found from past experiences that the tighter your plan, the more likely you are to run into something unpredictable."

"So, goodness has nothing to do with it?"

"Always nice to find a Mae West fan in the wilds," Jared grinned.

"Hell of a woman." Jensen liked Jared's sense of humor. He was worried though, that this felt more like flirting than banter, and that should just not be happening.

"Not my type, but..."

"You have a type?"

"I do now," he leered at Jensen. "We need to look for a place to bivouac."

"What are you, ex-military?" asked Jensen. He desperately needed to change the subject; his innuendo detector _might_ have been switched on in the crash.

"Turned my talents to other things."

"Uh huh."

Jared closed his eyes and put his hands up. He tilted his head to the right, looking for something, and nodded. "All right, that’s north and that’s south, we go this way. Southeast, staying as close to the stream as we can. Villages and towns are on the streams, we should be able to get help and get out." Jensen wondered what was really going on, and how he'd walked away from a plane crash. Jared was still talking. "Whatever they want, let's not give it to them, c'mon." He started to walk in the direction he'd indicated.

Jensen began to follow him, making a face at the squelching sound of pulling his feet from the mud. "You were right," said Jensen in disgust. "These shoes suck."

"They look like very nice shoes," Jared said, not bothering to hide his laugh.

"They are very nice cross-trainers and work well on treadmills or gym floors."

"So you're admitting you should have taken the boots," teased Jared.

"I'm doing no such thing. They're just not so hot on grass and squished bugs."

"Or mud."

"That either."

Jared laughed, and abruptly lost his footing, sliding down a short incline in his hiking boots. Jensen had to bend over, he was laughing so hard. His own feet slid from under him, sending his arms windmilling, trying to regain his balance. The motion overbalanced him, and sent him skidding down the incline on his ass. He and Jared sat on the detritus of the jungle floor and leaned against each other, too weak to stand until the laughter stopped.

"Good thing you’ve got me, eh?" said Jared, hauling Jensen to his feet. "You ever been in the jungle before?"

"Closest I've been is reading Upton Sinclair."

"Excellent observation of the state of turn-of-the-century labor," Jared said.

"You _read_ , Flyboy?"

"Asshole."

  


Morgan looked at the downed plane and cursed under his breath. One wing was gone, the fuselage had burst on impact, and it trailed vines like the streamers on a kite. "Collins, take a quick look-see. Speight, Cohen, we're looking for a computer, some kind of ledger. Count the dead, and don't forget the box in the dash." He wouldn't be able to use the plane, but that was secondary to getting the data.

"Two dead guys, boss, one of 'em's that Titus guy. Someone's hurt, but there's two of them walked outta here," offered Cohen.

"Two, huh?"

"Yeah, two set of tracks, busted apart first aid kit. Looks like pain drugs, splint, wrapping, gauze missing. We should throw this in the jeep, just in case. We don't have any of this gear with us."

"You think we're gettin' hurt?" Morgan drawled, looking oddly at Cohen.

Cohen shrugged. "My grandma always said, 'better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.' You keep shootin' people, we'll need the defibrillator. I damn near had a heart attack."

"The box is gone, looks like the dash got ripped out, maybe in the crash," called Speight. "I got a laptop, though."

"Bring it," Morgan ordered. He laughed at Cohen. "Keeps you on your toes. We're going to move down the river here, and plant some mines. They're not crossing. Speight!"

"Yeah, boss?" Speight handed over the laptop, and Morgan put it in the H3. He tapped a staccato on the roof of the Hummer with the large ring he wore. Whoever had survived that crash knew what he'd done, what the technology had let him do. He couldn't let them get away.

"You and Collins track them. Find them. We know this jungle, they don't."

  


Jensen thought that Jared would have them walk all night, but they'd only gone a short distance from the crash site when he called a halt and started hauling their gear into a tree.

"What are you doing?"

"Sun will be setting soon, and we won't be able to see where we're going."

"Okay, but what are you _doing_?"

"Oh. Getting us up off the ground. It's so flat down there that it must be a track animals use to get to the water."

"I can't climb, Jared." Jensen waved his injured arm in Jared's direction.

"I'll haul you up, don't worry about it."

Jensen looked at Jared's muscular upper body, and raised an eyebrow.

"Pulley, dude."

"For the record, I hate that I can't get up there on my own, as well as all this unnecessary stealth." Jensen was used to leading, not being the helpless bystander. Besides, he didn't like heights.

"Well, we'll see if it's unnecessary. Better safe than dead, Jensen."

There was no arguing with that.

Jared threw the space blanket over a branch and pulled the leaves down over it. Jensen couldn't see it from the ground, but Jared wasn't satisfied. He climbed down and gathered leaves from other trees, lashing them together and climbing back up. Jensen listened to the rustling and watched the branches sway, as the dusk dropped abruptly into full dark, with a sliver of silver moon giving a little bit of light. He couldn't hear the branches, Jared above him, or anything. He might have been the only living thing in the jungle until the glow of eyes from the opposite end of the clearing stilled even his breathing. Jared dropped down next to him, and there was the sound of a cough from whatever was fifteen steps away. A light rain started to fall.

"Jaguar," whispered Jared.

"What?" squeaked Jensen.

Jared dropped a loop of rope over Jensen, and pulled his arms through. "Shhh. He's no danger to us." He looked down at Jensen. "I'm going to haul you up. When you reach the top, you'll stop. Find your footing, and tug twice on the rope."

Jared pulled steadily on the rope he was holding, and Jensen rose into the air, until he felt the bump. He set his feet on what felt like a sturdy branch, and promptly sat down straddling it, fought the impulse to wrap his arms around the branch, locking on for dear life, and gave the two tugs. It was just a moment before Jared was on the branch next to him. Jared coiled the rope, slid Jensen out of the loop, taking extra care with his injured wrist, and tried to draw him up. Jensen trembled and shook his head. He hated heights, hated the dark, hated the jungle, hated everything about the situation. Jared slid onto the branch behind him and placed his hands on Jensen's hips.

"You're shaking!"

Jensen was mortified. He would have pulled away, but he didn't want to send himself tumbling to the ground, and so he went rigid instead, drawing on years of boardroom discipline. "Don't like heights."

Jared laughed, husky and deep, without malice, and Jensen felt the chink in his armor widen as Jared slid up against him.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I'm going to turn the flashlight on for just a second to get us settled, but you're going to have to stand up, all right?"

Jensen wasn't at all sure that was a good idea. He was perfectly content to stay right there, warm, flush against Jared, but he slid away, leaving Jensen alone in the dark. He had to pull himself together.

He heard a click, and narrowed his eyes, but Jared had muffled the light with his t-shirt, allowing just enough light for Jensen to see that the branch he was sitting on was wide enough to stand on comfortably. He drew himself up, and looked at Jared, who beckoned him forward.

"I don't want this light on long, so take a look. I rigged a hammock, we should sleep okay."

All Jensen could do was gape. Jared had strung a hammock, a real one complete with a roof and a mosquito net, under a canopy of space blankets that was already shedding the raindrops that were starting to fall harder. To Jensen's eye, it looked huge.

"Where'd this come from?"

"What?" asked Jared. "It's my... oh. Remember I said I was going hiking, in Playa Blanca? I need a double, since I'm too tall for a single. Once we're settled, I'll pull up the sides. I sprayed, it's as bug free as I can make it. Take off your shoes and let's try to get the socks dry. I've got clean ones for tomorrow, but let's do what we can. We can't afford to let our feet stay wet. Jungle rot isn't just in the movies."

Nodding, Jensen leaned over to untie his muddy gym shoes, one-handed. He sighed; the soggy laces were unyielding.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, Jensen. Let me get that." Jared dropped the shirt wrapped flashlight onto the hammock.

Before Jensen could do more than open his mouth, Jared was on his knees in front of him with his head bowed, those huge hands unlacing his shoes, stripping the sodden socks from his feet. Jensen's heart pounded, and his chest tightened. That sense of connection was still there; Jared made him want things he'd never let himself think about before, and he could've tried to blame the heat, but Jensen didn't like lying, even to himself.

Jared stripped the shirt over his head, and rubbed Jensen's feet dry with it. He hung the shirt and Jensen's socks alongside his own on a strap across the inside of the topmost space blanket. The shoes went next to Jared's boots on the opposite side. "Bandage, too, Jensen. I know it hurts, and you need the support, but it needs to be as dry as we can keep it, too. The socks _might_ be dry in the morning," he said. "I have a couple more pair in a plastic bag." Jared motioned him to come closer. "Back to me, okay, so we can swing in?"

Jensen swallowed. He hadn't given sleeping arrangements a thought; he'd never actually shared a bed with another person since his mother. The thought of spending the night in a hammock with Jared was daunting. "I - Jared, I've never slept with anyone."

"Huh?"

He cleared his throat, not knowing what he was going to say, when Jared's arm snaked out toward him, and they leaned into the hammock. Jared squeaked when he landed on the flashlight, and Jensen let a quiet laugh escape. Jared shifted, the light went out, and he rested Jensen's injured wrist on his chest.

"I don’t do relationships, Jared," said Jensen, very quietly. "I've been so careful, so good, up 'til now."

Jared waited silently for Jensen to go on.

"A couple of years ago, I was in Thailand. Peter was sick, flu, food poisoning, something. He made me promise not to leave the hotel, not to go anywhere without him. Room service waiter offered to get me a hooker." He turned his head toward Jared's face, then back to his chest. "He sent me a guy." Jensen cleared his throat, glad for the darkness, sure he was blushing brightly. It was good to have someone to confess to, easier to do it in the dark. "I'd never been with a guy before, but it made sense of everything else. I was never all that interested before."

"Oh, Jensen." Jared commiserated, patting Jensen's injured wrist very gently.

"So, I have this thing, this thing I can't do anything about."

"You can." answered Jared, surprise in his voice.

"Jared, I can't. The company, the press - you don't know what they are like."

"I'm not asking you to go steady, just to scoot over."

"I’m serious."

"So am I. Your shivering's going to knock us both out of this damned hammock. Angst about it when we're out of here. I'm sure not going to tell anyone."

"What, what happens in the jungle stays in the jungle?" Jensen asked, trying to wrap his brain around the idea that he didn't have to hide his attraction to Jared.

"Is that how you want it?"

"That's how it has to be. Jared, I'm so far in the closet, I'm standing in the snow by a lamp post."

"That's sad, man."

"It's how it has to be. I don't have any options."

"Well, if it's staying in the jungle, then scoot over. I wanted the chance to get to know you better. We might be sick to death of each other by the time we're safely out of here."

Jensen couldn't do more than open his mouth and take a breath, in part because he wasn't sure what he was going to say, when Jared put his hand softly over Jensen's mouth. He startled, eyes wide, and Jared breathed, "Shhhh!" into his ear.

By then, Jensen could hear the sound of a motor. They lay motionless, barely breathing and completely vulnerable in the crook of the tree. The lights of the vehicle bounced into the clearing, stopping directly beneath them. It took an effort of will to remain silent beside Jared, to not call out for rescue from the jungle. He thought of the altered electronics in the Lear and pressed his lips together.

"Anything?" came a voice below them.

"Tracks, but the rain's washed them out. They're all over the clearing. I think it was them, but I can't tell in the dark," answered another. "Huh. Jaguar was here, too."

"Well, shit. Maybe it'll get them first. Morgan's gonna kill us if we can't find them."

"We'll find them. They can't get across the river. He and Cohen mined the fords, and we have lookouts on the bridges. We'll find them. Alive or not."

Jared straightened behind him, but never stopped stroking a soft circle on Jensen's pulse point.

"Well, they're not here. Let's get back to camp. Got the GPS?"

"Yeah, but this ain't exactly a road."

"I don't want to stay out here in the rain. Dry clothes at camp, Collins."

The other man, _Collins,_ Jensen thought, grunted.

The vehicle drove off and Jensen felt Jared relax behind him.

"Still wishing we'd stayed with the plane?" whispered Jared.

"What in the world is actually going on here?"

"I wish I knew," said Jared. "We sure won't figure it out tonight. Let's try to get some sleep, huh?"

He slid over, giving Jensen half the hammock, but Jensen didn't move away. "How'd you know?"

"About you, or about the plane? It was pretty clear at the club --"

Jensen elbowed him.

"Ouch! Okay, hunch."

"I make a living knowing when someone's lying to me, Jared."

"Maybe."

"Maybe? I most certainly _do_. What are you, an International Man of Mystery?"

"Something like," sighed Jared, and wound his fingers between the ones on Jensen's good hand. "I guess we should talk about this."

"What’s there to talk about?" asked Jensen, hating himself for putting this wedge between them. "Different lives, different worlds."

"You can't tell me you didn't feel it, didn't connect with me at the club. Hell, you ran with your tail between your legs, left me with my cock in my hand." He snorted. "Well, that part was later."

Jensen resolutely put the picture of Jared holding his dick out of his head and cleared his throat. "I have shareholders."

Jared gave a regretful sigh. "Well then, for sure we know what you don't have between your legs."

Jensen shifted, affronted. "Are you calling me dickless? I have responsibilities, the livelihood of hundreds of people, and you're a happy-go-lucky flyboy, worried about blue balls."

"I'm - what?"

"You're a pilot. You go here, go there, if you don't like it, you go somewhere else."

Very quietly, Jared said, "I have responsibilities."

"Looks like they don't keep you from doing whatever you want."

Jared groaned and sealed his lips over Jensen's. It felt just as good to Jensen as it had the first time, the second time, like electricity coursing through his nervous system. Jared broke the kiss before Jensen was ready, leaving him gasping.

"That's not all I want from you, Jensen. So help me." He stretched the entire length of the hammock, tipping Jensen in even closer, and pulled on the rope that brought the sides up. "You don't know me at all. Go to sleep now, okay? We can talk about this in the morning."

Jensen grunted. The rain falling on their shelter and the rhythmic sound of Jared's breathing were the last things he heard before exhaustion claimed him.

  


Jensen was having a great dream. His injured wrist throbbed, his other arm was trapped against something warm, but he had manifested a third hand, one that knew just how to bring him release. He encouraged his dream lover, "Yeah, Jared, yeah, so good..." He was close, so close, but he didn't have a third hand, and he opened his eyes. Tan, strong, with long fingers, the third hand belonged to Jared, whispering encouragement in his ear. "Come on Jensen, come for me, so beautiful, want you to, want you--"

Jensen's hips moved on their own, stuttering in the warm circle of Jared's hand, and he threw his head back with a silent cry.

"What - what was that all about?" he asked, when he understood how to use words again.

"You asked me, dude. Put my hand down your pants - oh shit, you were dreaming!?"

Jensen groaned. He _had_ been dreaming of Jared. Jared had just - and it was something Jensen wanted to happen.

"We're actually in bed," said Jared, shyly, "and I had to make up for not having coffee."

"You felt like it would be okay to jerk me off?" Jensen breathed deeply through his nose, trying to still the roil of emotion. If he was honest with himself, he wanted it to happen again and again. He tipped his head to look at Jared's face, and while he might have schooled his features to a neutral expression, there was no disguising the mischief in Jared's eyes.

"You complained about my bedside manner yesterday. You, um... sundial... it looked like it was the thing to do."

"I - we -" stammered Jensen.

Jared brushed his temple with soft lips. "We agreed, didn't we? What happens in the jungle stays in the jungle?"

Jensen nodded. "I can't... there's no future in this. If we get out of here."

"We'll get out, Jensen, make it home. If this is all there is for us, then I don't want to waste it. I agree. When we get out, I'll walk away."

Jensen didn't know if he was even going to make it out of the tree, but Jared sounded sure. "Okay. What happens in the jungle stays in the jungle. I can -" he gestured toward Jared.

Jared laughed, that deep, intimate chuckle that made Jensen's toes curl. "I'm good. Now, my _eyes_ are yellow, and I have to get out of this hammock. I've never known anyone that could get one person out of a two-seater, not without cooperation." His eyes twinkled. "Wouldn't want to dump you out from way up here."

Jensen hung on, and Jared rolled out. He stood with his back to Jensen, who could hear the stream flowing down the leaves below them. The water purification tablets made much more sense to him now. With an economy of movement that was pure grace, Jared tugged a long sleeved t-shirt from his pack and pulled it on, then he leaned into the hammock to give Jensen a hand out. While Jensen relieved himself, Jared tugged the socks and the elastic bandage out from under the strap of the space blanket. Jensen's thin silk socks were dry, and Jared handed them over, grimacing at his still-damp athletic socks. He shook his head, wrapping them inside the space blanket as he pulled it down. Water from its outer surface sprayed Jensen who glared accusingly at Jared.

"Only shower you're gonna get today, dude. Sorry."

"What are you doing?"

"Hoping the residual heat will dry them the rest of the way. Good thing I packed extras."

Jensen ran his tongue over his teeth. "Don't suppose you packed a spare toothbrush?"

"As a matter of fact..." said Jared, and sat on the edge of the hammock to dig in his pack, coming up with a cellophane package. He held it out to Jensen.

"It's pink."

"It was on clearance. If it bothers you, you can use mine." He waved a well-used white one in Jensen's direction. "The pink one was a replacement for this one."

Jensen sat down next to him, pushed the handle of the brush through the bottom of the cellophane, muttering under his breath at the pain in his wrist. Jared put his hand out for the wrapper. "Don't want to leave anything behind." He shoved the wrapper into his pocket.

Jensen sat in silence, brushing, then looked over at Jared. "I'm good with this thing."

"Thing?"

Jensen sighed. "You haven't steered us wrong yet, I trust your judgment, and you might be a serial killer, but--" He shuddered and let out his breath. "I find you attractive. I agree. What happens in the jungle stays in the jungle." He didn't know what kind of a reaction he was going to get, but Jared grinned at him.

"Good. Done with the toothbrush? We need to wrap that wrist again and get moving."

Jensen didn't know what he had expected, but that wasn't it. Jared knelt, and pulled on Jensen's socks and shoes, tying them thoughtfully, before turning to his own.

Between them, they unstrung the hammock, and Jared folded it into a small package. He shook out the space blankets, and they folded down to next to nothing as well. Jensen was amazed at how small the entire unit was. It didn't weigh as much as a bag of sugar, and Jared stuffed it all into a bag that strapped to the bottom of the backpack.

Jensen had questions, so many questions, but no good place to start asking them. All he could do was stay out of the way right now. Jared dropped the loop of rope over his shoulders again.

"I know it's not a fancy elevator." He grinned. "I promise not to drop you." He let Jensen down, making sure he was solid on his feet before leaping from branch to branch on his way down. He dropped the last few feet himself, unwrapped the rope and coiled it neatly, hanging it on the backpack with a carabiner. Jensen stared into space, lost in thought, and Jared put a hand on his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"I dunno, I just... I missed all my meetings yesterday, who knows... There's a problem with..."

"Yeaaaahh," drawled Jared. "There's nothing you can actually do about that."

"I know, but I had a district attorney and two CEOs and--" he threw his hands into the air, "a press conference tomorrow, which is today, and I’m not going to make any of them."

"Nope."

"My schedule has been cleared. Wiped off. Wiped out. Erased."

"So you've got an unexpected Saturday. Wait, when was the last time you had a day off? Just, you know, a fun day."

Jensen stared at the trees. “This does not qualify as a fun day to any sane person. Also? Not coming to mind.”

“Last vacation?”

“Trip to Italy. Two museums, one vendor plant tour, a charity meet and greet, three dinners, had an agenda for every day.”

“Seriously?”

“Got into the habit early.” He waved his Blackberry. “I don’t even know what time it is. I should be freaking out about that.”

“You are. Where are you keeping that thing?”

“Belt clip. I should freak out about finding something to eat, huh?"

"Dude, jungle. There is food all around us. Hold that thought."

Jared dropped the backpack and darted through the trees, grabbing a low branch and swinging up to the nearest cluster of fruit. Before Jensen could call out to him, he was back with a handful of plantains.

"Going hungry is the least of our worries. These are plantains, not dessert bananas, but they're okay to eat." He stepped around Jensen to pick up the backpack.

Jensen looked down at the fruit. "One hand, Jared."

Jared reached around him with both hands to help peel it.

"Get off me, you giant ape."

Jared tilted his head. "If I was an ape man..."

"Just... forget I said anything." Jensen was sure he would carry the picture of Jared moving lithely from branch to branch for a very long time.

Jared pushed Jensen up against the nearest tree, laughing. "Take it back, or I will yell just like Tarzan.

"That would merely prove my point." Jensen paused, thought for a moment. "Which Tarzan? Lambert? Van Dien? Weissmuller?"

"I favor Lex Barker. Looks a bit like you." Jared flicked Jensen's nose, and he let out a breath, thinking Jared might kiss him. "See? Restraint. I haven't--" Jared's look softened. "Well, I haven't." He laughed. "Eat your banana." He backed up, sat and slapped the fallen log next to him companionably.

Jensen sat, and wrinkled up his nose at the taste.

“What?”

“So much better when they’re fried.”

Jared nodded, mouth full of food, and studied what he could see of the sky.

"So, what now?" asked Jensen, as they finished, and got to their feet.

"Now, we try to get to San Ramon."

"Which is where?"

"South, other side of the river."

Jensen gaped at him. "Past the mines and lookouts?"

"Yeah. Haven't quite worked that out. We start south, though, so, shall we?"

Jensen sighed.

"Come on, it'll be fun. You can tell me what makes Jensen tick, I'll flirt, you'll tell me to quit, I won't. We already know you know Tarzan films, what about the books? You read, we covered that."

"I prefer the Martian series," offered Jensen.

"Figures, Princess."

"Hey!"

"Watch your step, Dejah Thoris."

  


Jensen was completely unprepared for the actuality of trekking through the jungle. There was no path, everything was mud or slime, rivulets of water ran everywhere, and he had to constantly stop himself from trying to use his right arm for balance. Jared had to reach back to help him cross fallen logs and navigate tangled vines; Jensen snarled at him every time. He wasn't any kind of princess, dammit, needing rescue or a big strapping hunk of a prince to protect him and - he cut that thought off before he could follow it to its conclusion. He wasn't ready to face the exitless maze of justification, shame, and regret to which he had confined his sexuality. Le Notre would have been proud of his labyrinthine construct. He looked ahead of him, telling himself it was just to make sure Jared still had the flash drive secure on his zipper pull. His once-white t-shirt was soaked, and clung to every muscle as he moved surely through the trees. Jensen shut his eyes and hissed through his teeth. Jared couldn't have put on a show any better calculated to get past his reluctance.

Hooting and calling, a troop of monkeys rushed through the trees above him. One jumped down to land on his head and shoulder. Startled, Jensen flinched, and tried to shake it off, but the monkey snatched the hat off his head, then jumped to the nearest tree to shriek and wave it around.

When his heart stopped pounding, Jensen laughed, wondering if there was any point in trying to get the hat back. He didn't think playing keep-away with a monkey would be anything but frustrating, but Jared had been insistent about his wearing a hat.

He leaned down and grabbed a piece of, well, he didn't know what it was, maybe part of a tree, but it was softball sized. He wound up, picturing the monkey hugging the plate batting against the company softball team. He could do this. His pitch brushed back the monkey, jarred it into dropping the hat, and he smiled at his accuracy. Applause startled him, and he turned to see Jared clapping. Jensen blushed, and started forward to retrieve the hat.

"Hang on," Jared said, and picked up a long branch. "Don't need to be sticking your hands into that mess of vines."

He teased the branch into position under the hat, and lifted it. Faster than Jensen could blink, there was a bright yellow flash, and something that looked like a streamer hung on to the hat's brim.

"Whoa," said Jared, abruptly serious.

"What is it?" asked Jensen.

"Eyelash viper. Poisonous. People die from their bite all the time out here, and it's not a pretty way to go." Jared looked concerned.

"Seriously? I could have been bitten by a poisonous snake?" Jensen started to hyperventilate.

"Calm down, didn't happen." Jared seemed torn between comfort and laughter at Jensen's reaction.

"I could’ve been bitten by a poisonous snake!" Jensen said indignantly.

"You weren't, though," Jared said, laughter starting to win over comfort.

"Bitten. By. Poisonous. Snake." Jensen took a few deep breaths. "What do you do about that? I mean, if it happened to you, what would I do? Aren’t you supposed to suck something?

"Only on Little House on the Prairie. Unless you're asking…" Jared waggled his eyebrows and fondled the base of the stick.

"One of us could be dying from a snakebite, and you’re flirting?” Jensen moved closer to him.

"Did it distract you from your panic?"

"A bit. Really, what would I do if you got bit?" Jensen knew he wouldn't last in the jungle without Jared; he was protecting himself, he thought.

"Well, the natives use-- look for a plant looks like a ferny leaf with thorns, like-- bullhorns."

"Are you kidding me?" asked Jensen, warily.

"Nope. Acacia cornigera. Local remedy."

"They use a leaf?" Jensen said incredulously. A leaf to counteract poison. In the twenty first century. Unbelievable.

"Bark, actually."

"Oh, I hate this jungle, I hate you, I hate that snake, and I hate that I can see a plant with bullhorns from here." Jensen walked toward the plant.

"Good for you," Jared said, distractedly. He shook the stick and the snake dropped off the hat, slithering into the darkness.

Jensen grabbed the plant he was looking at and held it out to Jared. "This one, right? Can we carry it with us?"

Jared groaned. "I wish you hadn't done that. There are side effects."

"What side effects?"

"Well, the natives also use it for impotence."

"Fuck. My. Life."

  


"Can we risk a fire?"

"We'd have to start one. Let's find something dry enough to burn for you to stand next to. You're hot enough to set it on fire," said Jared, with a wink.

"Still gonna flirt?"

"Yes." He cupped Jensen's cheek with one hand and his eyes were suddenly serious. "You really are hot."

Jensen blushed and dissembled. "Of course I am. It's mid-nineties easy and ninety-five percent humidity. I was going to try to dry my socks before I get trench foot, and I think these shoes have squished their last."

"So, fire, huh? How are we gonna do that?"

Jensen made an exaggerated double take. "I thought you could rub sticks together, Boy Scout."

Jared smiled. "I can think of other things we could rub -"

Jensen shook his head, but a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, can we just skip the rubbing and go to dry socks?"

"Spoilsport. I could've earned a merit badge." Jared put down the backpack, and started ticking off items on his fingers. "Dry tinder, dry kindling, dry fuel."

"There isn't dry anything around here."

"No, so we need to improvise. We passed a fall of bamboo a little ways back."

Jensen motioned to the piece he'd been using as a walking stick, and Jared nodded. "We can shave pieces off of that, to make tinder." He unsnapped the strap on the big knife of the survival kit, and started to scrape the stem. He looked at Jensen. "Loose threads on your shirt? Lint in the pockets?"

He made piles of each, with Jensen helping. "Did you know that dryer lint makes really good tinder? Especially if you wear mostly natural fibers."

"I'll be sure to tell my housekeeper." Jensen poked at the small tangle of thread.

"Right, whatever. Here." Jared tossed a small fabric pouch at Jensen's feet. "You get it started. I'm going to see what's in the produce department."

Jensen pulled the small gray pouch toward him and flipped it open. The heavy weight that slid into his hand looked like a file and he grimaced. "Striking steel? Seriously, boy scout?" His wrist throbbed, he was wet and filthy, and now he was trying to light a fire with prehistoric tools. Damnation, if the flyboy could do it, he certainly could. He braced the steel between his knees, and used his off hand to strike against it. The first few sparks sputtered against the mud, so he leaned closer to the pitiful pile and patiently tried again. The second successful scattering of sparks caught and he laughed. "Take that, Mr.-I-can-survive-on-nothing-but... dammit." One thread, still glowing, curled up and turned black, beckoning him to despair.

He blamed the erection he'd had for the last hour for his distraction and rubbed at it with his bandaged wrist. He never had a problem with unwelcome arousal before Jared, and now he couldn't even do something about it, with his right hand immobile. He leaned back, and stretched the tension out of his shoulders, crouching over the pile of tinder once more. He could feel his lips setting into the smile that popped up on annual reports, the one that very few people really knew meant that he wasn't particularly happy.

He hurt, tired to the point of weeping. He was frustrated with the steel, with the claustrophobic jungle catching at him as he tried to escape it. The mud slipped underfoot and the leaves dumped birdshit-filled water on his head and he took all that anger and locked it away behind his patient smile. He struck the steel.

In another handful of minutes, Jared returned and Jensen was kneeling over the pile of fuel, carefully feeding in bark chunks. No victorious cry this time, but when Jensen rocked back on his heels, the smile on his face was softer around the edges.

Jared responded in kind. "Hey, go you, we've got a fire."

"Yep, and my feet are permanently asleep. Damn thing's touchy, though, so don't breathe hard."

"But we'll have dry socks tomorrow."

"Yep!" Jensen put one hand on a nearby plant to balance himself, aware of the stiffness in his knees and ankles as he rose to his feet. The shifting of the tree made the leaves shiver, just enough to sprinkle water over Jared and over the cheerful fire at his feet. They watched silently as it sputtered and went black. Jensen's smile went tight again and he knelt to pick up the steel and flint.

"You've got to be kidding me. Why are you using that?"

"The need still stands, and I'm getting faster."

"No, I meant the steel. Here..." He dug into the pouch, pulling out various foil wrapped bits and a length of wire before grinning and flipping Jensen a waterproof metal tube.

"You had matches? Why carry the steel?"

"In case we run out. It's a good luck piece. Long story about my uncle and... uh... it doesn't matter." Jensen realized only when Jared trailed off that he had his public smile on again and, arguably more importantly, Jared recognized it for what it was. "You’re more patient than I am."

"Probably. You ever negotiated with the Chinese?”

Jared grinned "Only at the Egg Roll Inn. I'm less about the negotiation and more about the moving out of the way."

"Patience is a learned skill. Not all of us can take the path of least resistance." He shook the matches. The container was mostly full. He handed over the steel with his wrapped hand.

Jared sighed. "Yeah, whatever. I'm gonna go gather some more wood. I found a patch of papas. We can roast them if they're small."

Jensen didn't look up. "You do that." He struck the match as though it took his whole attention.

  


At the campfire, they sat on a fallen tree that Jared had covered with a space blanket, replete from a meal of roasted tubers and fruit. Jensen wondered at how much better he felt with a fire at his feet and a hot meal in his belly.

“How’s the wrist?”

“Hurts."

“You can still wiggle your fingers, right?”

Jensen grimaced as he moved them carefully. “Small blessing. Look, I know we already talked about this but what if they sabotaged my plane to get me on yours?”

"Are you still worried about Lucy?" asked Jared. At Jensen's negative headshake, he continued, "Well, let's reason it out, then. Who would do that?"

“Someone in Central America who wanted to get his hands on the CEO of Ackles Navigation.”

"Delusions of grandeur, much?"

"Well, not me, actually, but CEO of a not-insignificant defense contractor. Do you know what my life insurance policy is? What they could ransom me for?"

"No," Jared said.

Jensen paused and realized that he hadn't actually looked at the numbers on the policy the past few years. "Um, actually, neither do I. It's big insurance premiums, though, and they make me sign the check."

"You're insured against abduction?"

"International travel and DARPA research, even if I weren't... Never mind, yeah, I'm insured, all our executives are. Scientists too, if they travel."

"I guess that makes sense. It's just strange to think of kidnap insurance being a part of anyone's normal life. Used to be you could go to work without making sure the rental had bulletproof glass."

"Happens on vacation, too. Let it go." He stared into the jungle, wondering how old Jared was, if maybe he was from someplace so rural that grocery stores didn't line up People magazine at the checkout, or if he'd been too caught up in whatever boys did that he didn't watch the news, spending his evenings milking cows or playing sandlot baseball.

Jared gasped and Jensen closed his eyes. So much for the baseball idea. “Oh, crap. The Hollywood Hijacking."

“Do you know how much I loathe that phrase?"

"Simone Eastlake and Alan Ackles. Fuck, I never made the connection."

"Mom was the one they tried to ransom. When they took my folks, I don’t think they even knew who my dad was, other than Mom’s husband.”

"A businessman’s a lot lower profile than silver screen starlet with the most kissable lips in Holly--" Jared swallowed his next words when Jensen looked up, clearly self-censoring. “Now that I know to look for it, you look a lot like your mom.” he finished, quietly.

Jensen gave a disgusted snort. “Did even more at her funeral. I saw a lot of side by side photos. For years.”

"Jensen..."

Jensen stared at their pitiful fire. "I was fifteen. Tragic. Pretty, I guess. The press was all in my face, in my life. They talked to everyone I knew about the poor pathetic orphan boy. They turned over photos or anecdotes or family stories for cash advances or just a mention on the news. By the time we had the memorial service, Mitch was the only one I had left to talk to."

"Mitch?" asked Jared. "He was the guy that survived?"

"Yeah. My guardian. He was dad's best friend and I was a minor. Dad had just incorporated, so he’d had to redo his will, and Mitch was executor and guardian." He looked Jared in the eye. This was pretty important to him. "He was really good about it, Jared. His wife was dead, and they never wanted kids. I didn’t want my folks dead. We worked it out. He’s a good guy, you know, just a little old school. In a lot of ways. Not his fault he got hit with his friend’s teenage kid and the company and two hats and all of it. But he handled all of it from the press on through the bullshit, He stayed close when I went to SMU. I was the only freshman who didn't have a car, but did have 49% interest in a Fortune 1000 company. Huh. Fortune 500 now."

"So he’s not a father figure?"

Jensen grinned involuntarily at the idea. Mitch didn't do hugs or Father's Day ties and the closest he'd come to fatherly advice was teaching Jensen to solder the summer they built the RC plane. "More like the uncle who gets really uncomfortable talking about his feelings. We bonded over basketball and quarterly reports."

"How?"

"He took charge of the company, and moved into my house when my folks were killed. It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know? Some sort of stability and besides, our place is stupid big, conspicuous consumption back in the eighties, but... well, it's home.

"Home." Jared looked wistful.

Jensen nodded. "He just never moved out. It's nice, actually. Close to the airfield where we do our testing, close to the office so we can work on the weekends, anyway, he took charge of--well, me. Edmond, our--I never know what to call him. Butler, housekeeper? They made it work. I was a mess, no friends--" he huffed. "Well, that hasn't changed." He gestured sharply, a twitch displaying his frustration. "I wonder if they think we died in the crash. Do you think they're even looking for us?"

Jared gaped. "Of course they're looking for us."

"You've got a point; the body count in the plane wouldn't match the manifest, so they must know we walked away."

Jared leaned in. "I was thinking more of friends."

Jensen thought of a line of uncomfortable dates and awkward college alumni meetups. He filled his role as the one who made it, smiled a lot, shook hands, passed out his business card and left early. "Friends? The softball team lets me play with them when I'm in town, but they're not friends."

"Softball." Jared looked thoughtful, and leaned on his elbow, closer to Jensen. "I thought maybe we were friends," he said softly.

Jensen gave him a pitying look. "When _48 Hours_ comes calling and digs through your life..."

Now it was Jared's turn to snort. "Jensen, I don't even exist."

"What do you mean?" asked Jensen, fidgeting on the tree trunk. He leaned forward, trying to relieve some of the pressure. What possible evolutionary advantage was boner-boosting to a plant? He couldn't have grabbed the cure-for-the-common-cold plant?

"You're really not okay, are you?" asked Jared, glancing away. Jensen rolled his eyes at the re-direction, but figured he didn't want to talk about it either. Concentrating on the physical discomfort was easy enough.

Looking only at the fire, Jensen sighed. "Having issues. The only thing I can use my off hand to do is pitch and it’s…” he waved his right hand, the binding smeared with dirt, “weird. I’ve been jacking off since I can remember, and I can't do a thing about this... this thing. It sucks.”

“Probably, but so do I,” said Jared, without inflection. "You were pretty eager to get my hands down your pants back in Bogota.”

“That was different.”

“Why, because now you know me?”

Jensen paused, then dropped his eyes, embarrassed. “Wow, and how sleazy do I sound if I say yes?” He squirmed in an effort to adjust himself.

“You are seriously fucked.”

“Rather the opposite."

“No, I mean it, you are _fucked_ in the _head_. Have you never…”

“Strings, scandals, commitments, my annual reports feature the Air Force’s finest with my mug in front of them. I’m not going to march in a Pride Parade, ever.” He looked down. So did Jared.

Jared bit his lip. “No one said you should--but--"

“God damn plant-based Viagra. I hate nature.”

Jared snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I’m thinking it’s mutual. Here.” He twisted to go to his knees in front of Jensen. “What happens in the jungle stays in the jungle.”

"So you've said."

"Are you gonna let me blow you or not?" Jared didn't push, instead, he sat on his heels and waited.

Jensen groaned, no more hiding. He was pretty sure want and need were warring in his eyes. "Jared."

"I'm asking."

"We really gonna do this?"

"You don't get it, do you? I _want_ to."

Jensen nodded.

Jared put his hands on Jensen's waist and stroked his sweatpants and briefs down to his knees in a slow confident movement. Jensen's cock was red and swollen; it looked angry with the world, and Jensen blushed to see it. Jared's eyes went dark, and his breathing quickened. He set his palm below Jensen's engorged testicles and bent his head. His licked his lips, tongue pink and wet, then lapped at Jensen's tip.

Jensen gasped, and Jared looked up at him. "You let me know if you're uncomfortable, if I hurt you. You're so big and so beautiful, and it looks like you really need it."

Jensen nodded, panting. His heart beat in his dick, which strained to get into Jared's mouth, and he tilted his head back.

"I'd like it," Jared said softly, "if I could see your eyes. I understand if you can't though."

Jensen would have bristled at the implication, if Jared hadn't been so right. "I'll try."

Jared nodded, and opened his mouth to take Jensen in. His tongue stroked and swirled, and Jensen wanted, wanted things he had no words for. The whole world and everything in it was between his legs and everything else be damned. The hot, wet heat of Jared's mouth enveloped him. It felt better than anything he'd ever experienced, his spine was trying to crawl out of his body, and then, then Jared began to suck. Jensen couldn't have remembered his name, as Jared took him in deep and deeper, and his body shook with the pleasure of it.

His dick throbbed, tight and hot, but it wasn't, somehow, enough. He ground his hips down, and Jared teased his tongue down to lick behind Jensen's testicles to touch his perineum. Jensen started to keen and writhe; when Jared backed off and swallowed him down, the world behind his eyes went white.

  


Jared banked the fire, and pulled Jensen to his feet. "Come on, hammock time."

"Could sleep for a week," he said, slurring the words.

"I know. 'M tired, too."

"Jared?"

"Mmm?" he asked, as he tipped them both into the hammock and pulled up the sides.

"We friends?"

"That’s up to you, Jensen, but I'd be yours."

Jensen felt something flutter in his stomach. It woke him completely, and he really didn't want to think about it now. There was sex and there was intimacy, and he'd spent years keeping them separate. "You just want me for my body," he joked.

"Want that, too," Jared grinned, clearly getting that Jensen was changing the subject. "It's a perfectly serviceable body. Parts of it are extremely serviceable. I like to service them, actually."

Jensen gave a full, surprised laugh, and regarded Jared in the scant light from the fire. "You're a hell of a serviceman."

"Yeah? What kind of service do you need?"

Color stained Jensen's cheeks, and Jared looked at him in concern.

"Jensen?"

"You know, I get tested for everything under the sun every six months with all the travel, and yesterday?" he began, "When I told you about Thailand?"

Jared nodded. "That you paid for sex."

"Jared, I used a condom, and I've tested negative every time since then."

"Is this a suitability interview? I don't actually have the records with me, but I'm not carrying anything I haven't picked up out here. What are you worried about?"

Jensen looked up under the hat that flopped over his forehead. "That I... that I fucked him."

"And you... what, Jensen? Do you want to do that to me?"

Jensen's color deepened. "With you, yeah. To me, though."

Jared straightened. "You... I don't want to misunderstand you, here, Jensen. You're going to let me make love to you?"

Jensen bit his lower lip. "I want you to fuck me."

Jared pulled Jensen closer to him. "You sleep on it. Look at me."

Jensen met his eyes.

"I want you. I want you in ways I can't even articulate."

"I can't even manage a proposition. I'm damaged goods, Jared."

Jared wrapped his arms around Jensen. "Not in any way that matters to anyone but you. You _matter_. That's why I want you to sleep on it. Well, that and I can't figure out how to do it in a hammock."

They lay in silence, until Jared started humming, off-key, and the melody made Jensen smile. "Just a Gigolo, really?"

"Only for you, baby."

Jensen fell asleep with a smile on his face, wrapped in Jared's arms.

  


Mitch Pileggi stared at his laptop as though his glare could make the Skype window beep to activity. He wanted to be on an airplane. He usually wanted to be on an airplane, even on good days, but today he wanted to be on an airplane, flying into Reagan International, storming into the marble foyer of the State Department and shaking people until he found one who would shake back. He took a deep breath and kept himself from tapping on the desk. The waiting symbol at the top of his monitor pulsed in time with the vein throbbing in his head.

No, really, he thought, really, he wanted strap on some six guns, kick down doors and go find his boy. He'd never expected to have Simone and Alan's son in his life, but the boy - he snorted, the boy was a man now - had wormed his way under his skin and into his heart. They'd needed each other just to survive, and he needed to be out there looking.

He could keep himself from pacing, but only just. His silent PDA was heavy in his pocket. The video feed showed the seal of the state department, just as it had for the past--he pulled open the drawer for the bottle of Tylenol Susan kept stocked for him.

When he looked up, the background was an entirely different color. A tiny woman with huge eyeglasses and a severe haircut waited for him to swallow. "Mr. Pileggi, thank you for your patience."

"I'm pretty much out of it," he grunted, then sighed. "My apologies, I've been waiting for some time. I will say once more, however, that I'm holding for Under Secretary William Burns, and you are not him."

"Given the nature of your inquiry, Mr. Pileggi, I am exactly who you want to speak with. The State Department has guidelines they must work within. The Phoenix Foundation is a privately funded organization."

"How do you--do you know who I am?" His raised voice echoed in the empty office.

"You are Mitch Pileggi, CFO Ackles Navigation," she answered. "The subject of this discussion is Jensen Ackles, CEO of Ackles Navigation, whereabouts currently unknown, suspected to be lost in a plane crash, somewhere in the Nicaduras jungle. Allow me to return to the question. Do you know who I am?"

"No."

"That is precisely why I can promise you results, Mr. Pileggi."

  


When they'd come across the clearing, Jared had taken one look at Jensen and declared a halt for the day. They'd pulled down all the accessible fruit, started the water purifying, hung the hammock and the space blanket tent, and Jared had walked into the waterfall-fed pool to cool off and rinse out his clothes. Jensen looked at the pool of water and thought of every bad movie he’d ever had playing in the background in some hotel room when his internal clock and the local time zone were mismatched, from Piranha 3-D and Anaconda to Sharktopus and everything else the SyFy channel played after primetime. He went in anyway, because it had been three days and he could smell himself, and not because Jared was in the pool already and not laughing at him so hard he was shaking. He ducked his head under the surprisingly heavy rush of water, hoping all the while that a fish wouldn't fall on him, or worse, a snake. At that thought, he stepped out a little hurriedly and rubbed his hair. “Needs chlorine,” he said, and Jared did laugh, but that was okay, because so did Jensen.

Jensen had lost his self-consciousness, and laid his clothes and the bandage over a branch to dry, crawling naked into the shelter. He was exhausted, he ached, and he knew they should be walking. He was completely out of gas, but he still couldn't sleep. He'd thought he was in pretty good shape, but the sleepless nights, the crash, the seemingly endless walking and the heat and damp were taking their toll.

He picked up his head, and looked out the opening of the shelter. The soft groan that escaped him had nothing to do with his aching muscles, everything to do with the sight of Jared. Jensen let his head drop back with a thump, but the image was already seared into his brain. Jared stood tall and lean, head thrown back, naked under the waterfall, rivulets of water chasing down the hard muscles of his torso. His eyes were closed, right hand wrapped around his cock, working it gently, easily. Jensen opened his eyes again, and Jared was looking right at him. His eyes widened in surprise, and his expression changed to something Jensen could only think of as sultry. He didn't stop what he was doing, but smiled at Jensen's efforts to hide his own rapidly hardening dick.

Jared's eyes held a question, and Jensen knew he had to answer it now, or he might never know. He tipped himself out of the hammock, grateful that he hadn't caught his foot, or had to use his injured arm to steady himself, and walked slowly back into the pool.

Jared never stopped, but slowed his motion, waiting for Jensen to come closer. "I've been thinking of you," he said. "Thinking of how I want to touch you, to have you touch me."

"Ho... how..." stammered Jensen.

Jared smiled that wicked smile. "How do I want you to touch me?"

Jensen nodded.

"I've been thinking about that, too. I think," he continued stroking as he said, "I'd like... wow, where should I start? Should we pretend I'm dressed? Should we start with me standing in a waterfall, jerking off?"

Jensen whined and took another step, hands raised, and Jared sped his own motion.

"Should we pretend this isn't our first go 'round this session? Then we can go slow, take our time, or maybe that we're in the heat--"

Jensen plastered himself against Jared, pulling him close and Jared slid his free hand down to Jensen’s waist, opened his hand, already slick, to capture Jensen's cock next to his own.

Jensen swallowed hard, and put his good hand around Jared's resting his injured hand lightly on Jared's hip. It was awkward, wrong handed, but in a moment, he felt so good, it didn't matter. Jared groaned and the hot spurt against Jensen's belly brought him over the edge, as well.

Jared bent his head and kissed Jensen, possessive, open-mouthed, wanting. He lifted Jensen's hand and started to lick their combined ejaculate off his fingers.

Jensen stiffened and took a step back moving so fast, so clumsily that Jared reached out a hand, thinking he’d stumbled in the water. Jensen stopped him with an upraised hand.

“What?”

“I can’t do this.”

"You didn't enjoy that?"

"I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. I'm saying that I can't do this... It's not that easy for me." They stood, separated by air and water and Jensen’s downcast eyes.

Jared let out a slow breath. "I'm sorry. I went too fast. You wanna try that kiss again?"

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"Is there an option d for all of the above?"

Jensen's breath caught in his chest. "I just--I just need to get used to it."

Jared rolled his eyes, but when Jensen glanced back before pulling himself up to the bank, he was standing, watching. Instead of walking to the shelter, Jensen stopped and sat.

Jared ducked under the water, straightened, tossed his hair back, and joined Jensen on the bank, not too close, far enough that Jensen had no excuse to move away. He waited in silence.

"So, you're all out and proud, then?" asked Jensen.

Jared blinked, startled. "Proud? Don't see what there is to be ashamed of. Looking for happily ever after, just like anyone else. You know, picnics in the moonlight, Christmas trees?"

Jensen sighed. "It's a lot to wrap my head around, you know? I never let myself think about it, before." At Jared's nod, he stood, and walked back to the shelter, throwing himself face down on the space blanket covered ground. His head spun, and his thoughts raced, like cars on a race track. It was overwhelming.

Jared crawled into the makeshift tent a few minutes later with a handful of ferns and a half a coconut. "What's that?" asked Jensen.

Jared held up the ferns "Samambia. It's for that sunburn on the back of your neck. Coconut cream."

"For?"

"Jensen, I can see the knots on your shoulders, your back. You've been doing everything with your left hand, so I know you're hurting."

At Jensen's skeptical look, Jared gave a sheepish smile. "Wholly platonic, I swear."

  


"Closeted really isn't healthy, you know."

He wondered if Jared was reading his mind, or if it was the only subject that mattered a bit to either of them this morning. "Hell of a lot healthier to the stockholders."

"Maybe. You said you hold 49%, right?"

Jensen nodded.

"Mitch?"

"33%"

"So your concern is with 18% of the shareholders."

Jensen thought about it for a moment. "Yeah. 10% are employees, 8% is privately held.

"I know, you probably don't want to hear this." Jared began. "Your employees. They sound great, by the way, loyal, like they like their jobs."

"They are. Almost like distant family. Susan, my assistant? She supports Mitch, too. She has the strongest faith of anyone I know."

"Religious?"

"Well, she goes to church. She's the one everyone goes to when they're in trouble. Prayer circles in the cafeteria that we very carefully don't officially know about, you know?"

"Not actually. Sounds like she believes in positive thinking."

"Oh, yeah. Always that."

"Well, it seems to me that your employees want you because you're a good businessman, and your shareholders are in it for profits."

"That's business, man."

"Okay, yeah, we live in a fucked up world. Jensen, it's none of my business but, are you sure you're not out to someone?"

"Peter may have had thoughts, but if he did, he never said a word to anyone."

"You think?"

"Bodyguard. Plus, why blab before confronting me?"

"Because not every conversation about sex has to be confrontational."

"You've been watching those old after-school specials again, haven't you," said Jensen, pityingly.

"No, I've got friends that I love, who love me. Look, your not-uncle, Mitch, right? He raised you, how can you hide from him? Don't you love him?"

"I do. I know it's unfashionable, but I do. He's a great guy. That's why I can't tell him."

"Jensen, does he love you?"

"Of course. But he's... he's not touchy-feely. You know, a firmly clasped shoulder as opposed to a hug?"

"Don't you think he already knows? Or at least he's thought about it?"

"Why would he?"

"I thought you were an open book."

"I can be sneaky. What about you? Do your folks know? Is there someone at home"

"No, there isn't anyone. My folks are dead." At Jensen's look of horror, Jared held up a hand. "I was nine, it was a car accident, I was there, it was awful, we're done talking about it. Dana and Linda shared raising me after they were killed."

"Linda and Dana. So there was a rainbow shirt in your closet already." Jensen said.

“Dana's a man's name, too. Like Lesley or something. He and Linda aren't married. Um, to each other, that is. Dana was my legal guardian from the time I was nine and I had a perfectly normal family life with his family until I was about 15. Then, I started to spend a lot of time hanging around the office. Dana… values diversity. Valued, he’s dead now, too. Heart attack.”

"Better than snake bite."

"Or gun shot. Let’s go, Boy Wonder,” joked Jared.

"I'm no one's sidekick," said Jensen, indignantly.

"Robin's a superhero in his own right; it's not like I called you Lois Lane."

"Nightwing had to change his identity to stand on his own and why do _you_ get to be Superman?"

"I have the All-American smile." Jared grinned toothily.

"And the complete lack of humility."

"Bulletproof skin and unbreakable bones."

"It's a sprain, dammit. You diagnosed it with your imaginary x-ray vision, remember? You do know that Batman carries a kryptonite pellet at all times, right? Technology to mitigate the power imbalance when working with metas. I could _so_ take you."

"Man of steel." Jared grinned and puffed out his chest, drawing an S on it with his finger.

"I'm smarter than you. Heir to a family fortune and defense industrialist. Huh, come to think of it, I _am_ Batman."

"So, Bruce Wayne, do you live in stately Wayne Manor? I could be a sidekick if the perks are right. Although frankly, I'd rather be Nightwing. I'm not so much for wearing the man-panties."

Jensen sighed. "You really think they're looking for us?

"Transponder, remember? Someone that isn't trying to kill us knows we are out here. Besides, Alfred always greets Batman on his return to the Batcave. With cookies."

"Not Alfred, Edmond." Jensen smiled gently. "He _is_ British. Edmond travels with Mitch sometimes - we've got a London office and he's there a lot. The house by White Rock is big enough that even if we're both home, we can go for days and only bump into each other in the kitchen." Jensen shook off the memory. "Anyway, fighting for Truth, Justice, and the American Way."

"And we're back to Superman, full circle. Apparently we're both mildly nerdy but not totally embarrassing Comic Book Guy."

Jensen didn't laugh or argue. He knew Jared must be wondering what was going on in his head, but he didn't know, himself.

  


“For Pete’s sake, are you going to ever put your shirt back on?” asked Jensen, looking at the acres of golden skin Jared was displaying.

“Wasn’t planning on it, no. Not until I have to carry the pack. It chafes, otherwise."

“You’ll get sunburned. You warned ME about it.”

Jared put a hand in the single shaft of sunlight that penetrated the canopy above them. “Yeah, you burn. I tan. It’s a hundred degrees and a hundred percent humidity." He looked at Jensen thoughtfully. "What’s wrong with you today? Terrified of nipples?”

“Civilized people wear clothing.” Jensen answered, not meeting his eyes.

Jared turned to face Jensen fully, snapped the button on his fly and dropped trou. He stood there, shorts and boxers puddled around his ankles, and smiled while Jensen stomped past him along the riverbank with a sour look on his face.

Jensen had to face it, Jared had worked his way under his skin. He just didn't know what he was going to do about it.

Jared raced up to him, and Jensen gave thanks that he was fully dressed again. It was really hard to think with naked Jared around. It was easier to say yes and harder to say no and Jensen thought, crap, when did that happen? The carefully vetted arm candy he'd be expected to escort to charity fund raisers was never going to be as satisfying to talk to as Jared.

Jared grabbed his shoulder. "My turn to carry it for awhile, come on."

Jensen's throat tightened. "I can't do this, Jared."

"You were doing it just fine. One foot, then the other and Jensen, what’s wrong with you?"

Jensen shook his head. How was he going to tell Jared that he was rethinking his deal?

  


Jared paused. Wind was unpredictable, but footsteps less so, and he’d been listening with half an ear for pursuit for long enough that it took a moment to realize this rustle was real. He could spot the edges of broken shadows under the plant cover, enough to recognize the silhouette of a solitary armed man to their right and probably another to their left, a little ahead.

“Jensen, hold up. My shoelace.”

"Where the hell _are_ we, Jared?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but I--"

"Can't be the Amazon Rain Forest. National Geographic said it was shrinking. We've been walking for _days_."

He ignored Jensen’s good-natured grumbling and kept his hand on the blade at his ankle until the shadows started moving closer. When he counted four, all armed, he switched tactics. “Hello? Is there someone there?" He turned to Jensen. "I thought I saw someone.”

“You did.” Jared couldn’t place the voice, not with Jensen thrashing in surprise over it.

“Where the hell is the neighborhood watch when you need them?" Jensen said.

Jared scanned faces as the men surrounding them quit trying to be sneaky. Two he didn’t recognize, but who could be called on with no notice to play bad guy number five in any gritty cop show and one who looked vaguely familiar. He didn’t have time to think about it, though, because from in front of them Jeffrey Dean Morgan, his smirk familiar from covert ops and briefings for seven years, stepped out of the jungle. He was the only one not brandishing a gun, just a cocksure grin and a freshly lit cigar. “About damn time you got here.”

"Well, thank goodness," Jared exclaimed, with a salesman's false heartiness. "We were starting to think no one was even looking for us!" He jerked his chin at Jensen. "He broke his wrist, and I'm pretty sure we've been bitten by enough mosquitoes to have double malaria."

“It’s broken?” Jensen cried. “I thought you said sprained.” He turned to Morgan. “Look, as much as I appreciate the armed guides, we really just need to get to an airport.”

Morgan didn’t glance Jensen’s way. "Where is it?"

"I'm sorry?" asked Jared. He didn’t have to fake his confusion.

“Yeah, let’s not do this.” He fired a shot without looking, far too close to Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen dropped, the hat flipping off his head sideways to settle next to where he crouched. “Everybody listening now? I want the data.”

“I don’t know who you think we are, but we were in a plane crash and…” Morgan lowered the hand with the gun so it was pointed at Jensen and Jared tried not to show a reaction at Jensen’s sharp inhalation. “And we really don’t know what you are talking about.”

Morgan tilted his head to one side, considering. He waved the cigar as he said, "Nice to finally meet you, Padalecki. You think I haven't been keeping eyes on you since you got to Nicaduras again? Your people took a chunk of my men last time, but there are always more angels to fill my host. Speight, Cohen, Collins, meet Jared Padelecki, Phoenix Foundation's do-gooder and white knight." He laughed. "These are my angels. Be sure to do what they ask you to. God is dead, and there won't be any divine intervention."

 _Shit_ , thought Jared. "You have the advantage of me."

"I always will,” Morgan said with a lazy smile. “Where's the information? The information you took from Titus, where'd you hide it?"

Jared's eyes never wavered, but at the edge of his peripheral vision, he could see Jensen's startled gaze dart to where his hat had dropped. Cohen followed his look and grabbed the hat with a tight smile.

"Kill him," Morgan said, and Jared’s stomach sank.

"Which one?"

"The other one."

Jared laughed, the hard laugh that he used undercover, the one he’d based on phone taps of Morgan himself. "You're dumber than you look."

Morgan growled, "Watch it, kid."

"Do we kill him, boss?" asked Cohen. He was wearing Jensen’s hat over his do-rag and had Jensen by the collar. Jensen was watching Jared, probably waiting for a cue. Jared had no idea of how to give one, even if he saw an opportunity.

"Who is he?" demanded Morgan.

"What's in it for me?" Jared countered.

"You get to live a little longer. Who is he?"

"Ackles Corp CEO," blurted Jared, desperate to keep Jensen alive. "I figure he's good for an eight figure ransom."

"You bastard!" Jensen yelled. Speight yanked on his bad wrist and Jensen howled. "Motherfucker!" he spat.

"You leave my momma out of this. It's broke now, for sure," he said, with spite.

"Godammit," moaned Jensen.

"Don't blaspheme," scolded Collins.

Jared turned, violence in his eyes, to find Morgan had moved between them, pointing a very old, very deadly Colt at his head.

“You want to re-think that, hero?”

Jared wasn’t sure which set of eyes on him were heavier, Morgan’s with the threat of casual death, or Jensen’s confused betrayal. He couldn't save Jensen if he was dead.

Morgan stepped close, not quite within arm’s length and Jared waited, all too aware of the other two men standing near Jensen. Nodding at the surrender in Jared's eyes, he smirked again. "Tie them up, and stick 'em in the Jeep. Eight figures is a royal ransom, wouldn't you say, Princess?"

Cohen left Jensen to Speight and stepped toward Jared while pulling zip ties from the upper pocket of his BDUs. He put one hand on Jared’s shoulder and said, “Both hands, down here, crossed. Play nice or else.”

“Oh, go for the ‘or else’, Padalecki. I’ll mail what’s left of you to your corporate headquarters, postage due,” Morgan laughed and Jared could only watch as Jensen was shoved, his hands also bound, up the trail.

Morgan looked at Cohen. "Get Collins to help you carry him." He swung the rifle hard, stepping into it, once in the gut, then up, so the grip collided with Jared’s cheekbone. Jared folded like a cot, writhing in pain. Collins picked up Jared's backpack and tossed it to Cohen, then poked Jared in the kidney with his gun. "Walk."

  


Jared worried about the way the zip tie was cutting into the increased swelling of Jensen's wrist, but decided that anything he could say would make things worse. It needed elevation and ice, not being garrotted and bounced at hip level. A forced march away from the river found them at a road where a battered, utilitarian jeep waited next to an H3 with secondary market bling, its chromed rims dulled by a layer of mud.

"In you go, Princess. You too, Hero. Cohen, watch them." Morgan turned his back with impudent disregard.

Jared shuffled sideways on the open seat and whispered, "Try to keep it straight. I'll check on it when -"

"When we're dead? Or when I'm being photographed with a copy of today's newspaper?"

"Shut the fuck up, you two," said Cohen, starting up the Jeep with some difficulty. "What I wouldn't give for my god damned Firebird," he said. Jared looked up slowly, but didn’t make a sound. Maybe the guy really did have a POS from the seventies. He hoped not.

Morgan's voice came through the radio. "Come on up the road. I'll ride with you."

"Yessir," Cohen answered. Jared met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and gave the slightest of nods.

The radio at his shoulder crackled before Speight's voice called out, "Move it, motherfucker!" The next words echoed oddly as they could also hear Morgan cursing over the radio and in realtime. Cohen gunned the engine, then pulled up sharply to let Morgan in.

The cars drove down the jungle track, and Jared watched Jensen's wrist grind against the zip ties with every bounce. He tried to figure out what Morgan wanted with the damned hat. Before long, they arrived at a jetty, where Speight and Collins stood holding a Sea Ray's mooring lines.

"After you, Princess." He poked Jensen in the back with his finger, and Jensen tumbled into the bottom of the boat, hissing in pain as his wrist took another jolt. Jared winced, and Cohen pushed him aboard with the muzzle of his weapon.

"You're a long way from home, Morgan."

"So now you know who I am, eh?"

"Yeah, took me a bit."

"You know me, then you know I like to keep my passport dust-free."

"Plus Chechnya gets cold in winter."

"I was all through there before your people showed up. Got my souvenir.” Morgan flashed the ring on his right hand, and Jared's stomach turned.

“That’s really ugly.”

Morgan grinned evilly. “Gold and silver dental fillings. More fun than blood diamonds.”

“And yet all the same karmic imbalance.”

"Whatever. The money started drying up. I found greener fields, and the agriculture here's pretty damn good."

"So you've taken up farming?"

Morgan laughed. "Commerce in agriculture, with a side of luxury real estate. We'll be visiting lovely Isla de Frewer, where some dumb-ass mouth-breather made a million dollars selling virtual web shit, then decided to build Fantasy Island for his nerdy friends."

"Since when do you work for the cartel?"

"It works for me, kid. The gringo threw some parties, built a webpage, hired a handful of pretty masseuses, found out he didn't know shit about running a business, then developed a fatal cash flow problem. Frewer saw an isolated property, with high tech wiring and a fire sale price. I'll be sure you get a brochure when we get there."

"Is there a spa? I could use a facial." Jared ignored the warning glance Cohen threw back at him. The more he could keep Morgan focused on him, the less he'd think about Jensen.

"Oh, don't you worry. I'll make sure you get the full treatment, Padalecki."

Jared looked around, noting landmarks by habit and Morgan casually backhanded him. "Try it and I'll point and laugh while you get eaten."

Jared looked over the side. "Caymans?"

"Caymans, yeah, but the ones that'll get you are the freshwater sharks. Interior lake. We didn't even have to stock it."

“No swimming for rescue, got it.”

Morgan grinned toothily. “You can’t outrun a bullet, boy. You’d never make it to the dock, sure as hell can't jump to the opposite shore."

"Right. This is us shutting up and being model prisoners." Jared stared toward the island in the middle of the lake. The house was large, painted a white so bright it glimmered in the slanting sunlight. A newer dock, built on metal pilings with a chugging generator at the base, jutted into the lake on the edge of the island. Another boat, the twin of the one they were on, rocked in its own wake at the end of it. But what was next to it, that was interesting. He'd heard of narcotics traffickers using small submarines to evade border guards, but---

"What on earth is that?" Jensen said aloud and Jared cringed. The entry hatch of the sub poked up out of the water like a beer can floating in a pond.

"None of your damn--"

"Storm shelter," Cohen interrupted. "Hurricanes, you know. Lots of ways to die here, rich boy."

Cohen dropped Jared's back pack on the dock to offer Jensen a hand, but he shook it off, head held high, and stumbled out of the boat to the dock. He kept to the very center, obviously looking into the water. They passed the generator and the drums of fuel used to power it; the stink of the diesel trailed them up to the house as they followed the power lines clumsily affixed onto the facade over the widow's walk on the third floor.

"Cohen, escort the princess and his knight in shining armor to the guest rooms. Frewer's got company for supper, but he'll want to see them after."

Cohen glanced at Morgan. "Can't we just kill 'em and dump them now?"

"No, birdy-boy may be telling the truth about the Princess here." Jensen rolled his eyes and Morgan grinned. "What'd ya say, Your Highness? That smiling face gonna pop up on Google?" He turned again to Cohen. "When we kill Padalecki, I want to plant his body. But I need to think about where. A real diplomatic incident, a non-sanctioned US agent's body popping up in, hmmm, North Korea's easy, but they're not good about paying. One of the 'stans, maybe. Like I said, something to consider. It's not like he's going anywhere."

Cohen kept a hand on Jensen's shoulder and Jared tagged along peaceably, Collins at his back. The layout of the place seemed hotel standard--long hallways, stairs at each end for fire exits, a set of rooms around a central hallway to allow for rooms with windows and long walks only for bellboys. Real houses had hidden corners or blank walls; hotels were a lot easier. On the other hand, this particular hotel had trigger happy guards and an honest to God moat with sharks. Cohen opened a door and stood there, tapping the butt of his weapon.

Jensen walked in obediently, and turned back to Cohen. "Look, we're not going anywhere. This thing hurts like blazes. Keep him tied up if you want, but could you just let me re-wrap my wrist?"

Cohen glanced at the lamp on the desk and sneered. "For all I know, you're Jack Bauer. Hell, no. And stay put." He slammed the door and rattled the lock loudly. Jared rolled his shoulders and headed toward the desk.

"You fucker," Jensen spat. "I trusted you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Jared saw the hurt in Jensen's eyes that had nothing to do with his wrist. He twitched and rolled his eyes at the lamp, trying to pantomime apology and double crosses that were triple crosses and pledge his affection, all while slipping the zip tie. He was pretty sure, from the dubious expression in Jensen's eyes, that he'd failed getting across the message, but he raised his bound hands up, and with a violent motion, slammed his hands downward and out. The plastic split apart, and Jared rubbed his wrists. It worked just like it had in training, but it hurt like hell, and he didn't think Jensen's wrist would stand the harsh treatment.

"What--" began Jensen, and Jared sealed Jensen's mouth with his own to quiet him. Jensen struggled and pulled away, and Jared pointed into the lamp.

Jensen glanced at the table, his brows furrowed, then went over to it. He glanced into the lamp, then turned and shook his head ruefully. A soft grin crept across his face, contradicting his words. "You broke your promise. You betrayed me!"

"It is what it is, Ackles. At least you're worth some money," Jared continued in the harsh voice he'd adopted. He took Jensen's hands, wrinkling his nose at the zip tie cutting into the swelling around the injured wrist. "You heard them, I'm dead anyway." Jared pressed his finger to his lips, and turned his attention to Jensen's bonds. He motioned for Jensen to sit on the bed, and used the aglet on his shoelace to depress the locking tab on the zip tie.

It was the work of a moment to free him, and Jensen cradled the wrist, mouthed his thanks, then said, "I'll be glad when you're dead."

"I'll be glad not to have to listen to you whine anymore." Jared shrugged his apology. Jensen had never whined, not once in three days. He held out his hand, and Jensen confidently held out his injured wrist. Jared unwrapped the bandage, hissed at the new bruising on Jensen's wrist.

Jensen jerked his head toward the bathroom. "You suck."

Jared grinned at Jensen, and licked his lips. Jensen grinned back.

Jared shrugged, and Jensen flipped the faucet handle up. The sluggish flow of water was brown with rust, but Jensen stuck his wrist under the tap with an expression of relief. He looked at the lighting fixtures, anywhere that an obvious listening device could be placed.

"You may find this hard to believe," whispered Jared into his ear, "but there have been times I had a lot more fun in the backseat of a car. Smart thinking."

Jensen looked up in the mirror over the sink and there was something Jared couldn't define in his eyes. He shook his head. Damned stubborn and thick headed and he'd promised to watch Jensen walk away and he would. But he didn't have to like it.

"You just figured that out?" asked Jensen, softly.

Jared smiled. "No, just reminding you, Princess."

"Yeah, it pisses me off just as much when you say it. Maybe I am better off throwing in with them."

Jared looked around the room for something to pad and stabilize the injury. He pulled a pillow off the bed, stripped the case off, and shook his head at the expensive memory foam pillow it covered, tore that and gently fit it to Jensen's wrist, rewrapping it with the stretched out elastic bandage as well as he could. He picked up the discarded zip tie and slid it into his pocket. The room had been turned into a cell by switching the lock around, so that it required a keycard to exit, but Jared just shook his head and pulled the hinge pins.

It took more time to open the door slowly enough to spot and disable alarms. He couldn't find any, which worried him, and the camera enclosure mounted near the ceiling at the end of the hall was pointed away from their door. The fire exit door was slightly out of line, because the door itself was blocked with an empty Cerveza bottle, and Jared's step disturbed a small pile of thin brown cigarette butts clustered beside a row of bottles. Some were still half full, lined up against the wall. He toed the bottle back into place and eased the door up to it behind Jensen.

Wary of the echoing stairwell, he didn't dare speak above a whisper. "Okay, I've got a plan."

"Don't tell me you know how to make a bomb out of chewing gum."

"Why?" asked Jared, with an intrigued look. "You got some?"

Making a show of patting his pockets, Jensen shook his head, no. "Thinking we should steal a boat and run away?"

Jared grinned. "Pretty much, yeah. But not a boat. Sharks aren't a problem if you're in the belly of a whale."

"That _was_ a submarine, then. Not exactly Milspec, and they're armed, remember?"

He picked up a bottle with a familiar black label, sniffed the contents. "They may have arms, but we have brains. Upper floors are less used, or the minions wouldn't be using this as their break area."

A creak from below silenced them both. Jared glanced up, but he had no idea if there was roof access from this stairwell, and multiple exits were always better than singles. He shoved the bottle into Jensen's good hand and patted him back through the door into the hallway, as the sound of boots clomping on concrete stairs came toward them.

He glanced both ways, but the generic hallway showed identical rows of identical doors. Jensen poked him in the kidney and pointed downward. The carpet showed a decided trail of dirt and mud leading to one room at the mid-point of the hall. Jared crouched and eased the door open, little by little, peering inside. He saw tables and cables and heard the sound of snoring. He guessed they were over the front lobby, about where the generator line had been inexpertly fastened to the front of the house. He and Jensen crept in, closed the door and turned to see banks of camera monitors, more than half of them blank. A heavyset man in fatigues was snoring, tipped back in his chair.

Jensen looked around the room, grabbed a roll of duct tape off the window sill and shoved it at Jared. Jared slapped a piece of duct tape over the man's mouth and pressed against the blood vessel at the side of his neck. The man's eyes flew open and he struggled for long seconds before finally going limp. Jared used the rescued zip tie to fasten his wrists through the armrests behind him, then rolled the chair into a corner. He examined the screens. Some showed the dock, some the outside of the house, one the roof, Jared noted with dismay, with one on the track down which they'd been driven earlier. The door rattled. Jared shoved Jensen to a corner of the room and picked up an empty chair. It wasn't much, but maybe he could startle whoever was coming in. Jensen brandished the bottle.

The door opened and Cohen entered, looking pissed, but his expression quickly changed to comically astonished, then grudgingly impressed, as he held both hands up in surrender.

"Christ, Chief, you're a hard man to help. I thought all the office gossip was just blowin' smoke. Maybe you _are_ as good as they say. I'm with Phoenix. Miss Hunt will be glad to hear you're all right." He looked quizzical. "Um, 99 sends her love?"

Jared stilled and went red and sputtery with mortification. “That’s not the code phrase you are supposed to use.”

“That’s because some people watched too much Get Smart. Who’s your friend? Really Ackles or were you just throwing to see what would stick?”

"The code phrase?"

Cohen looked exasperated, but responded, "The Phoenix flies all over the damn world. At midnight."

"You have got to be kidding me," Jensen said, clearly angry. "Who _are_ you? And whose side are you on?"

"Mine, and keep your voice down."

"Fine. Can I pay you to get on my side?"

Jared shook his head. "Wrong place, wrong time, Jensen." He turned to Cohen. "We need to get the hell out of here."

Cohen answered, "Yeah, well, I need to get you both the hell away from me. Preferably several borders away. Make it a continent."

"Happy to. Need that hat back. Well, the drives on it."

Cohen gestured to the desk where the man had been sleeping, and the hat with its chain of drives lying there. "Wisdom was supposed to be checking out the data. Morgan'll be back any minute." He jerked his head at the monitors. "He's down at the dock meeting Frewer and the guy from Monday."

Jared looked up at the monitor that showed the second Sea Ray returning to the docks.

"You'll want this, Padalecki." Cohen started two-fingering the keyboard in front of him and peering at the monitor.

Jensen gave him twenty seconds, then pushed at his shoulder. "Time is money. What are you looking for?"

"Video surveillance from five days ago. They watch me too closely to get it out on my own, and email is autocopied and might be read. I don't know how it works. Last time he met with this guy."

"I do, but that's not the point. At least your IT guy labels his directories. Wow, including the porn. You want security feed video. What date? "

"Monday. The 14th. Meeting with a new player trying to buy in."

"But today is... What day is today?"

"Focus, Jensen. Here." Jared slid the ladybug jump drive into the USB port. "Save that and...hey, wait, no. What are you doing?

"Setting up multiple windows, hold on, I thought I saw something."

"Just do what I told you," said Cohen, impatiently, "and--"

"Cohen, give him a minute. What is it, Jensen?"

"Here, worry wart, see? Your files are being copied, but I thought I saw... I did. I knew that name looked familiar. These are financial records. More importantly, these are my financial records.."

"So, that's the Ackles Navigation logo, huh?"

"Yep." Jensen stared at the screen, then looked incredulously at Jared. "Manifests, shipping data, P&L's -- this jerk was giving away _my_ company."

"Download the whole damn thing and let's get the hell out of here to look at it, Princess."

"Still not funny."

"This is what you look like when you're pissed, isn't it?"

Jensen blinked, and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I was thinking about something else. This data's from my office in Colombrador."

"You finished playing with the keyboard, Steve Jobs?" asked Cohen. He nodded at the monitor. "Frewer's almost here."

"No, no," Jensen laughed. "Ask him. I'm Batman." Jared looked worried and Jensen grinned. "Solved it, Kal-El."

Jared just nodded thoughtfully and turned to Cohen. "That cable down to the generator. Think it'll hold, say, four hundred pounds?"

"Beats me, why? They've been taping the end of it to the stucco because it flaps in the wind, but they screwed the bracket in good. Oh God, this is going to be another one of your escapades, isn't it?"

Jared shrugged. "Maybe. Can I have your lighter?"

Cohen said, "Just give me enough time to be in the kitchen with a beer in my hand sitting with every other low-life here before you do it." He handed over a pink plastic lighter and a folding knife. "Thought you'd want that back, too."

"Thanks. Five minutes do? Hey, I don't suppose you guys hide booze up here? I need another bottle." Cohen pulled open a cabinet to show a half dozen bottles, a few with labels, all partially empty. "Aces! Thanks!" Jared unzipped his fly.

"Oh, come on, Padalecki, I didn't know that was true, too! Don't need that much time." Jared stripped out of his shorts and was pulling off one sock when Jensen looked up at him. Cohen slid out the door soundlessly.

"Jared," Jensen said, "Not that I'm not flattered, I think, but Cohen has a point."

"You have a lot higher regard for my libido than the situation warrants. Can you lock their system down? Password it. Anything not obvious." He continued to strip out of his boxers, tearing them in half and shimmying back into his shorts, commando.

"Something like the Aunt Linda thing?"

"God no, do not use Phoenix in any form."

"Right, the meerkats are in the bag."

"Oh, like any self-respecting geek wouldn't get that."

"What, I _like_ xkcd. These guys aren't self-respecting."

Jared hopped a bit to put his shoe back on.

Jensen slid the ladybug's ass out of the computer, clipped it to the rest and plopped the hat on his head, pulling the chin strap tight. "So, Clark Kent, how are we going to get downstairs and past a floor full of people with guns?"

"You said you threw for the company softball team, right?"

"Why are you holding a sock, Jared?"

Jared opened the window and leaned out. "Seriously, you can throw, yeah?" He handed over two bottles with brightly patterned cloth dangling from each, as he wrapped duct tape around the sock, sliding the roll over his hand onto his forearm.

"You want me to stand on a window ledge and throw your underwear into one of the boats?"

"Can you make it from here?"

Jensen peered out the window. "No. What's Plan B?"

"Oh, we're still on Plan A." He tied Jensen's shirt at the waist and shoved a bottle in each side. "Grab on." He slung one end of the tied and taped together socks over the power cable, grabbed both ends and heaved himself out of the window. Jensen had to leap to wrap his legs around Jared's waist. "This will take us to the far side of the generator. I want you to throw a Molotov cocktail near the gas tanks on the boats."

Jensen nodded, understanding what Jared wanted, then kissed Jared full on the mouth. "For luck," he said, in response to Jared's gobsmacked expression.

"You better not turn out to be my sister," Jared said, and stepped off the ledge, sending them sliding down the electrical line as if it were a thrill ride.

They dropped to the dock, behind the drums, before the first shouts came from the house. Jared pulled the lighter from his pocket and lit the cloth poking out of both bottles before bullets started pinging off the metal barrels.

Jensen took two quick breaths, then a slow one, popped up and threw the first bottle.

"That wasn't much of a fastball," Jared commented.

"No, it was my knuckleball. How do you think it got up against... you better duck."

"Fuse is getting short, Nolan Ryan," said Jared as he tucked the taped socks between the fuel barrels and lit them, as well. A familiar strap caught his eye, and he pulled the backpack Cohen had dropped there toward him.

The first boat blew just after Jensen threw the second bottle. A man's body flew into the air and then into the water, where Jensen could see him thrashing. Even Morgan flinched, which gave Jensen time to catch up with Jared. "Hey! You found the backpack!"

"Sometimes I get lucky." Jared grinned.

A second explosion roared as Jared pulled the hatch closed, slid down and pulled Jensen into his arms. Flush up against him, Jensen laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, inappropriate erection, I know."

Jensen pulled Jared's hand into his own crotch. "Not just you. If we get out of here, I'll --" He blushed. "I'll try to take care of that for you."

Jared's eyes lit. "Now that counts as getting lucky." He looked around. "Tell me there's a button labeled start."

"Not even one marked _comenzar_ , but I'm betting," Jensen pressed a big red button and the wooden planking under his feet rumbled, "that this thing's no more high tech than a Vespa."

"Actually working in our favor."

Several sharp pops made Jensen flinch. "Are those rivets popping?"

Jared shook his head. "Nah, probably gunfire. Let’s see how fast we go."

Jensen pressed up against Jared and slid his good hand down, into his cargo shorts, cupping Jared's dick.

Jared inhaled sharply. "You have a lot higher regard for my restraint than I do."

"That's not what you said ten minutes ago," Jensen teased, tongueing at Jared's earlobe.

"I'll have to remember that you find being shot at arousing." Jared squirmed, and Jensen regripped. "You're killing me here. We're escaping, remember?"

"Fine." Jensen patted Jared back into place and slowly withdrew his hand.

"Well, wait, I get a raincheck, right?"

Jensen laughed, low and dirty. "Guess you'll have to wait and see." He turned back to the row of small monitors, idly licking his fingers, and pressed buttons under them at random. "I’ve got a... fish finder, a radar of sorts. And a rear facing vid feed. "

"Oh good. Are we being chased?"

"Nope, they've got casualties on the dock, and a lot of smoke and flames."

"Good." said Jared, shortly. "Means there's less of them shooting at us."

Jensen ducked at another explosion, then ran his good hand through his hair, grinning sheepishly. "The dock just blew. Jiminy, what was in those bottles?

"Nothing but rum and my underwear. He must keep his tanks full."

  


"Can you drive this thing?"

"Sort of. Grab that and pull it port-ways."

"Crap, you _are_ driving this."

“Technically, you’re driving, I’m diving, and not fast enough.”

Something hit the unpainted fiberglass above Jensen’s head. It sounded like a gassy bulldog.

“Was that a fart?”

“A what?”

“The sub is flatulent. That, or it’s breaking.”

“It’s not breaking or –“ Jared reflexively ducked as it happened again. “We aren’t deep enough, hang on." He tore a strip of duct tape off the roll still on his wrist and slapped it over the biggest hole.

"Is that duct tape? You can't fix a submarine with duct tape!"

"It's EB Green and my options are what precisely?" Jared shouted back.

"Wait, wait! How deep are we going?"

“Deep enough for the water to give us some protection from bullets.”

"How deep is deep enough for This Old Submarine to break? No, wait, I didn't ask that. Bullets. You're right. Tape it. Bullets. They’re shooting at us. At least use two layers, okay? We’re gonna die.”

“You underestimate the power of The Force."

"You overestimate the strength of EB Green. Can I help?”

“Got any quick-set polymer? Yeah, here, slap a piece of this over any holes." He handed the roll to Jensen, who looked at him, comically waving his wrapped arm. Jared grimaced and took the tape back. "Okay, you drive, cross your fingers, and think about things that are fast.”

“Maserati, Sikorsky X2, SR-71, Chris Hemsworth.” Under his breath, Jensen added, "You."

  


Mitch stood and faced the window that took up most of the wall behind his desk. They'd set the office against the back wall for this view into the manufacturing floor, the glassed off clean rooms to the left, the rows of tables for assembly, bins of finished inventory to the right. He couldn't see shipping, and the sales and accounting departments were between him and the front doors, but here, he could see the heart of the business and could pretend he could still smell the solder. Alan had designed the building, the architecture of the company, and even years later, he missed him, missed all three of them, with an ache that went beyond emotional into the physical.

The phone on his desk beeped. "Mr. Pileggi... someone to see you." Mitch set his face. The someone was a someone Susan didn't know. A known customer would have been announced with _Mitch_ or an employee with _Sheriff_ , a nickname that Alan had started and had stuck. He set his shoulders. He'd thrown himself into the hole that Jensen had left, but the boy had a touch with people that Mitch couldn't match.

He faced the door as it opened for a large unsmiling man in a dark business suit and the tiny woman he'd spoken with instead of the State Department. She'd sent a handful of emails, but since they'd all boiled down to _be patient and let us work_ , he hadn't bothered responding.

"Miss Hunt. Is it too much to hope that you have news?" he asked.

She smiled. "I have news. Your young man has been seen with one of our resources. They are currently between destinations. The area is unsettled and quite dangerous, but one of my best operatives--"

"Operatives? Jensen's caught up in some Tom Clancy bullshit? I find that difficult to believe."

"Tom's been retired for many years, Mr. Pileggi. We have a confirmed sighting, and young Mr. Ackles does have protection, although we do not have an available method of communication. I thought you would like to know."

Her courtesy disarmed him, and he sank into his chair. "It's better than what I had, thank you."

"I understand your frustration," she said, but he interrupted with a snort. She continued, "It's very difficult not to strap on your six-guns and ride in on a white stallion to rescue the boy, isn't it?"

It echoed his earlier thought with uncanny precision, and he answered slowly. "You have no idea."

"I manage an entire stable. I believe I understand exactly." She blinked owlishly. "I would like to ask for your cooperation, and, of course, your consent. Mr. Ackles and his traveling companion may make contact with you directly. I would ask that you let me know immediately."

"Can't you just wiretap or whatever?"

"Mr. Pileggi, doing so without your permission would be rude." Her purse played the first few notes of the theme to Get Smart and she paused. "If you would excuse me, gentlemen."

"The conference room. That door. It's private. And I figure after all this, you can call me Mitch."

She nodded and he was left with a man who was as tall as he was and twice as wide. "So, bodyguard?"

"Personal assistant to Miss Hunt, sir."

"Of course her subordinates call her Miss Hunt. "

"To the best of my knowledge, sir, so do her superiors."

The door to the conference room opened, but Mitch ignored it.

Mitch nodded. "She's already got wiretaps on every phone in this building, doesn't she?"

"Time _is_ of the essence, Mr. Pileggi," the bodyguard answered.

"Mr. Smith, honestly. You might have stressed my fondness for proper etiquette. And mentioned the one on the telephone at his residence. The cellular devices as well." She turned to Mitch. "Mr. Pileggi. We expect to be traveling soon. You may wish to keep that in mind as you plan your schedule. Are you comfortable with my making arrangements on your behalf?"

"To get Jensen? I thought you'd lost him. Was that the call? Yes, anything you need. Do you need anything? I have..."

"Thank you, no."

"I really hate just waiting for other people to..."

"The hazards of command, Mr. Pileggi."

  


"Is there a head on this thing, do you think?" asked Jensen.

"Head, or _a_ head? Probably just a coffee can."

Jensen rolled his eyes. "I'm gonna look around."

"If there's an instruction manual, I call dibs."

Jensen went aft, and looked at the huge stacks of batteries piled under the deck below a pair of diesel engines. He admired the concept, batteries to run silent, diesel when noise didn't matter, but the design lacked elegance. He shrugged and walked past Jared toward the bow.

"Hey, you should see this," said Jared.

"Hmmm?"

"Look."

He pointed at the Ackles logo on a device and Jensen burst out laughing. "How's it programmed?"

"Beats me. Keeps telling me to turn starboard or port. In your voice. Really weird."

Jensen came closer to examine the device. "What? That's... really irritating. It's our turn-by-turn GPS," he said, and pushed the button that flipped through the different screens. "The prototypes use my recordings. They've programmed it with navigational charts for these waters. A chimp could drive this thing."

"Are we back to Tarzan, now?"

"Aww, man, I didn't mean it that way." He dug at the GPS with a fingernail on his good hand, came away with a strip of something plastic, and held it out to Jared.

"Here, put this with the rest of the stuff we're trying not to lose."

Jared took the metallic plastic Jensen handed him. One corner curled, crinkled, where Jensen had pulled it free. "It's a sticker."

"It's a serial number."

Jared looked at the sticker with its bar code and multi-digit number and swooping A in the corner. "It really is a very nice logo. Very distinctive, even printed small." He unzipped the pocket that held their passports and slid it in alongside, wiggling his butt at Jensen as he started to zip up.

"I'll let my graphics department know you approve. I'm getting tired of seeing it where it doesn't belong."

"What's in the back?" asked Jared.

"Batteries, diesel engines. Pretty slick system for something off thereifixedit.com. Did you figure out where we're going?"

"Well, the charts are showing a route to take us out of the lake, down a river and hopefully out to the ocean. San Ramon is about 30 miles from the mouth of the river."

"Can I do anything?"

"Sign with the Rangers? Nice pitching back there."

Jensen grinned. "It was pretty cool. You do this kind of thing all the time? It was fun, in a terrifying way."

Jared laughed. "Not if I can help it, but you know, trouble follows me around."

"Yeah. You poke it with a stick and run."

Jared ducked his head and changed the subject. "This thing has a fish finder in the nose. What else do you think is up there?"

"I'll go look."

"Jensen?"

"Yeah?" asked Jensen.

"Never mind." Jared hid his gaze with those floppy bangs that Jensen wanted to push out of his eyes so he could see what Jared was thinking. Later, he thought, when they were on land, at least. He looked around the forward compartment and his jaw dropped. He wasn't sure if he was right or not, but he backed out, until he bumped into Jared.

"You OK?"

"You better come look. Here, I'll steer."

Jared went to look and came back with wide eyes. "Okay, so there's no bathroom and no instruction manual but we do have a significant amount of contraband in the hold. Wonderful."

"It's cocaine, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah. Surrounded by bales of pot. This changes things a bit."

"We knew they were drug runners."

"But not efficient drug runners who'd already loaded their cargo into the sub we stole. It's kind of a game changer." Jared looked around the control center. "When we get to the ocean, I'm surfacing and dropping the anchor."

  


"So," said Jensen, "that's the plan?"

"Got a better one?"

"If we scuttle the sub, then no one can use it and no one gets the cargo. We then have to swim for it, unless that sand bar marked on the charts is still there."

"Right."

"What if we run it aground in San Ramon? Local DEA can take the cargo and the credit."

"Local DEA might be dirty. It exposes us, and if they are dirty, the drugs go back into circulation tomorrow."

"Either way, we have some time to kill."

Jared sat heavily on the nearest bale. "You know how much--"

"Nope, but you are definitely lying on several million dollars of drugs."

"I hear making love on piles of money is a fantasy for some people."

"Yeah?" asked Jensen. "Those people haven't seen you. Remember what you said at the club? That you wanted to touch more of me?" asked Jensen, finally tearing his ragged button-down in half as he pulled it over his injured wrist.

Jared nodded.

"I want to touch you, but this is fucked. I can barely feel my right hand."

"God, Jensen. You deserve so much better than this. Crisp white sheets, candles--"

Jensen stopped him with a kiss. Neither one of them was clean, or fresh, but there was desire, and the taste of Jared's mouth was as intoxicating as it had been the first time he'd kissed him. Jared's hands fluttered, landing lightly on his waist, and Jensen drew back.

Jared fell backwards, arms over his head. "Fuck me."

Jensen frowned. "I don't know _how_."

  


"Jensen. Wake up. The decision's been made for us. We're taking on water."

Jensen stretched and peered at the monitors. "More good news, we're losing the video feed. No, wait, the feed is fine. We're losing power. How close are we to walking?"

They staggered as the sub dragged over the bottom of the shallows.

Jared eyed Jensen. "How tall are you?"

"Shorter than a shark is wide, and there are bigger sharks in the ocean than in a freshwater lake. Let's not go wading with the fishies, eh?"

"I need to figure out how to scuttle this thing. I don't want them using it again."

"I'm just happy we could. What happened to building a water purifier with a leaf and two pieces of glass?" Jensen asked.

"Yeah, well, I'm fresh out of glass."

"I could get you a rock."

"I could hit you with it."

"Or you could scoot out of my way and let me work." Jensen used his thumbnail to unscrew the panel at the rear of the sub. "Fuck," he said, almost conversationally.

Jared gaped at him.

"I know _how_ to swear, Jared, I just don't. Usually."

"What are you doing?"

"Short form - I'm disabling the sub. You ready to run?"

"No! Wait!"

"Coward." Jensen grinned mischievously. "I'm just setting it up, not actually lighting the fuse. Though if you see sparks, you might want to swim for it. And try to drag my electrocuted body with you, okay?"

"A little blunt force can do some major damage."

"A little finesse does more. The bad news is that apparently, one of my employees apparently has a sideline selling my goods to unpleasant people, but that means that the good news is," he tugged out a length of wire and handed the loop to Jared, "I know where the power outputs are."

"Nice."

"'S okay, I know where they are on all my competitors' products, too, and I'd really rather that drug runners be using their equipment than mine. All right, we've got a couple of options ranging from fire and explosions, always a classic, to keeping your feet dry."

"We've had explosions today, so let's try something new. I'd like to keep the flash drives from a swim. Makes recovering the data easier and we've agreed we both like dry socks."

"Okay, what we have here is the Ackles Navigation G25-30 beta, designed for commercial truck fleets and in no way intended for military, naval, or submarine use. Not even Red Green's."

"You have the brochure memorized? "

"Don't be ridiculous, I wrote the first draft. What isn't in the brochure is the system that we never could work the bugs out of. And by bug I mean an undocumented feature. A particular bug that I should be able to... Ow! Ow ow ow. Ow. "

"Wrist?"

"Nine volts on the wrist. Actually, probably a bit more."

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"No, I want you to look at the screen and find a place to bump the shoreline. Here, you wear the hat. You're going to walk onto dry land. I'm going to stay here and hold this in place until I hit open water and let the nav system keep her on a straight line away from shore. The DEA can bring divers if they want to prosecute. No explosions, but no salvage, either. Tadaa!"

"Very impressive. I was just going to jam the wheel in place with a stick."

"Philistine." Jensen paused as Jared pulled off his shirt. "What is it with you and losing clothes?"

"I like your plan."

"So you're rewarding me with nudity? That's a corporate incentive plan I hadn't considered. Might want to work that into our patent reward system, though I suspect I'm going to have to talk HR into it."

"Nope, I like your plan, but..."

"I've grown fond of your butt, too. What's wrong with my plan?"

Jared handed over his shorts and kicked off his shoes. "You've got the bum wrist, so I'm swimming and you're walking the sandbar to shore, keeping the passports and flash drives dry. Show me what I need to do." Jensen hesitated, and Jared continued, "You know I'm the better choice."

"Yeah," Jensen answered. "I know it. I just don't like it."

"You stand on the beach while I rise, like Venus on the half shell from the water, stark naked."

"Stark raving lunatic is more like it. Okay, so long as you don't run aground, the system should guide the sub out without much help."

  


Jensen spread one of the space blankets from Jared's backpack on the sand closest to the trees. He wasn't ready to leave the jungle yet, and sat back on his heels. What Jensen couldn't figure out was what Jared saw in him. When Jared rose from the surf, Jensen swallowed hard. He looked around. Still in the jungle.

Jared spotted him on the beach, and ran across the sand, dropped to his knees on the silver blanket.

"Done."

"Well, then. Well done."

Jared looked at him, and licked his lips. Jensen groaned. "I gotta--"

"No, you don't." Jared scooted closer. "You've been clear on the whole thing, Jensen, and I made a promise."

"You don't--Jared, I gotta." He leaned forward before he could rethink things, and caught Jared's mouth in a tentative kiss.

At least it was _supposed_ to be tentative. Right up until Jared groaned, put his hands on Jensen's hips, tugged him closer. Jared's mouth opened wider, and Jensen sank deeper into the kiss, and oh shit, he _wanted_. Jared's hands tightened, and he could feel _exactly_ what Jared wanted, too. He tipped them sideways, and Jared let him, nipping at Jensen's lower lip as he rolled onto his back. For a second, Jensen was only aware of the taste of Jared's mouth, the gentle sweep of his tongue-- he pulled back and locked eyes with Jared.

"Jensen--"

Once again, he let himself go, moving before he could think. He ducked down, opened his mouth, and took in the head of Jared's dick.

Jared's sharp intake of breath made Jensen smile. It was nothing like he'd thought, the velvet texture of Jared's dick on his tongue made him dip in more earnestly, to see what the rest of Jared felt like, tasted like. Salt, from the ocean, or perspiration, and then something else, that translated to the Jared-scent Jensen burrowed toward in their hammock. The saltiness made his mouth water, and so did the noises Jared was trying to muffle. He held Jared in his left hand and backed off enough to ask, "Is this okay?"

Jared was biting his lower lip and trembling, at first Jensen blushed to think it might be suppressed laughter, when Jared babbled, "More than okay, Jensen, you're really good at this, you should see your lips, and I fantasized about--and don't _stop_ , for heaven's sake, just don't--"

Jensen flashed him a quick smile, and went back to licking and sucking, holding the head of Jared's dick in his mouth, tongue swirling around it as if it was a dripping ice cream cone, left hand firmly stroking the shaft. He opened his mouth as far as he could, took in as much of Jared as he could. He thought about the things that felt good to him, teased Jared's slit with the tip of his tongue and then pushed with the flat of it against the bundle of nerves at the base of the head. He tasted a slight bitterness, before Jared arched and called his name, breathlessly. Jensen pulled off, a question in his eye, when Jared climaxed, spilling all over Jensen's hands. He watched Jared's dick pulse in his hands, looked at his face, wondered if that same look of wanton abandon had been on his face, earlier. He looked at the fluid collecting in his palm, and the expression on Jared's face, raised the hand to his mouth and lapped at it, letting that flavor coat his tongue as well.

He glanced back up at Jared, and his heart stuttered at the way Jared was looking back at him. He had to gulp for air. "Jared, I--I don't want to go."

"What?"

"I don't want--it stays in the jungle. We're on a beach."

Jared's eyes practically glowed. "It's the jungle as long as we say it's the jungle." He grabbed the front of Jensen's shirt, pulling him down beside him into a messy kiss, tangled legs and panting breaths blending with the calling of the birds in the trees and the sound of the waves on the beach.

  


The beach was littered with flotsam and Jared stood with his hands on his hips. Jensen handed over his clothes, and stared at the beauty of the open sky, watching the birds wheel overhead. Fishing boats were leaving their mooring, and the tinny sound of reggaeton faded as the boat drew away from them. "I've never been so happy to hear a crappy AM radio in my life," Jensen said.

It was almost time to go home, and return to everything he'd been missing. First on the list was medical care, but at this point clean briefs were running a close second. He reached back with his good hand and grabbed at Jared. He'd let go later; right now he had the luxury of touching him. He'd lose that, too, soon enough. His wrist throbbed, and his jaw ached, but Jared's fingers were laced with his, and that was something that made him smile.

The path into town turned from sand to dust, beach shanties to adobe houses, and the narrow streets beckoned with the promise of civilization.

Jensen almost tripped over his own two feet when Jared turned abruptly into an even smaller street than the one they'd been on. He righted himself while Jared knocked on the door of the third house in some elaborate pattern that sounded a lot like the intro to Ballroom Blitz.

The door opened, and a tall blond with hair shaggier than Jared's stood there, with a hand behind his back that Jensen suspected might conceal a weapon. He never would have considered that a week ago, he thought, but there it was.

The blond recognized Jared and flung the door wide. "My man! How ya' doin', Chief? Come on in." He looked out on the street behind them in every direction, before closing the door.

The kitchen at the back of the house was entirely modern and wholly American. A coffeemaker gurgled out the end of its cycle, and the aroma made Jensen's mouth water.

"Happy to see you. Eric, this is Jensen, Jensen, Eric." He snatched the hat Jensen still wore off his head and waved it at Eric. "This is important enough to bring down a private plane. Can we have a look?"

"A hat?" Eric looked closer. "Oh, the drives! Sure. Little early for a beer, but--you want a beer?" He tilted his head and looked at them again. "Hmmm. Maybe food, shower, first aid--not in any particular order?"

"Coffee," moaned Jensen.

"Coming right up."

Eric was as good as his word, and Jensen breathed in the steam from the rich, dark brew as he followed Jared and Eric down a flight of stairs, through a steel door, down another flight of stairs, finally entering a room filled with computer equipment, tables and desks, but only one chair.

Jensen took a small sip of coffee and let the bitter brew wash over his tongue. His eyes widened in surprise. "This is Community."

"Yeah. I have it brought in for special occasions. Good thing you came," said Eric with a grin.

Jared shook his head. "Best coffee country in the world, and you bring in that swill from Louisiana?" Eric and Jensen glared at him, and he laughingly put up his hands in surrender.

Eric shifted some external drives, and held his hand out for the flash drives. Jared handed them over, and leaned on the desk that Jensen had hopped up on.

Eric looked at the chain of drives. "You want to pick?"

"The ladybug has surveillance footage from the Frewer compound," said Jared.

"The password on the file is 'meerkat,'" offered Jensen.

"xkcd, huh?" Jensen blushed. Eric grinned at him. "Did you at least use numbers for vowels? We need to talk about secure passwords." He laughed. "Later. This is probably important. Let's start with that." He tugged the drive loose and laughed again. "Looks like Miss Hunt's."

Jared slapped himself in the forehead. "What am I thinking? You have a secure line?"

Eric nodded to the phones on the desk where they perched. "The beige one."

Jared picked up the receiver and dialed, then held the receiver away from his ear so Jensen could hear beeps and clicks and finally a clear ringing from the other end. He heard a woman's crisp voice answer. "Mr. Olsen, do you have something for me?"

"It's me."

"That is very welcome news."

"Yeah, I think so too. Listen, can you get someone from Ackles Navigation on the line?"

"Do you have--"

"A little worse for wear, but I do."

"Mr. Pileggi is with me. Just a moment."

Jensen's eyes lit up, and Jared passed the receiver to him, stepping across the room to give him some space and look at Eric's monitors.

"Jensen?"

"Hey, Mitch."

"Thank God you're-- _are_ you all right? They found Peter."

"I'm tired, dirty, a little banged up. Yeah. All right." Jensen's eyes misted up, and he wiped at them with his bandaged arm. He cleared his throat. "Lucy?" he asked.

"Safe and sound back at our hangar. Susan's been, well, everyone at the office has been worried sick. We've got a team in the office in Colombrador--Jensen, we can talk about this later. Miss Hunt?"

Jensen heard Mitch hand over the phone and then blow his nose. He smiled.

"Mr. Ackles, we are already in the air. Expect us this evening to bring you home. It is imperative that you and Mr. Padalecki take every precaution in the meantime."

"Let me give him the phone."

"That will not be necessary." The line clicked several more times, and Jensen realized the call had been ended. He put the receiver back in the cradle, and wiped his eyes again.

"Jensen, you won't believe this."

Jensen got up to see what was so interesting, and looked at the monitor. The timestamp at the bottom showed Monday's date, and Frewer sitting at a table with a middle-aged man. It made Jensen hiss. "That's _Fuller!_ "

"Fuller?" asked Jared. "Your controller?"

"Yeah."

"That's the guy that went into the lake after the boat blew up," offered Jared.

"I hope the sharks found him."

Jared squeezed his hand, and Jensen looked down at it dumbly. Their fingers were linked again, and Jensen didn't remember it happening. He looked at Jared, who looked at the monitors and then at Eric.

"See what you can get off those. We need to do something about his wrist."

"Sure. Julie over at the clinic will fix you right up."

"Julie?"

Eric pursed his lips. "She's great. She'll be sure Jensen gets the best care. You know the drill. You just walked out of the jungle, and need to get checked out." His expression turned serious. "Jensen, do you understand?"

Jensen gave him his best blank look. "I'm a tourist. I've been stumbling around the jungle for days, dude. Lost on a hike, nothing to do with a plane." He turned to Jared. "Does this fall under 'every precaution'?"

Jared looked at Eric who shrugged and grinned. "You gonna stay here, after?

Jared grimaced. "Your beds are too small."

Jensen's eyes narrowed as he wondered how Jared knew that.

"We have passports." Jared gestured down his body with his free hand. "Can you front us some clothes?"

Eric seemed to notice their hands for the first time, but Jensen didn't think he was surprised. "Come back here from the clinic. I'll get some clothes together for you, see if Luisa has some rooms."

Jensen flinched.

"Fine. _A_ room."

Jared stepped forward. "I'll go with..."

Jensen stopped him. "I can handle getting x-rayed on my own. Why don't you go grocery shopping? I'll take a double pepperoni. Or a pepperoni of any sort. No, let me think, how about anything that is cooked by a professional and isn't raw plantain. And no ceviche. Or snake."

Eric turned back to his computer. "And they ask why I don't do field work."

  


Jensen tapped at the edge of the wooden doorway. "Um, hi?" He stepped into a room of bright orange plastic formed chairs, all facing a window that looked onto the street. At the back of the room was an antique desk with a new flat screen monitor perched on it. A slender blonde looked up.

"Help you?"

Jensen waved his wrapped wrist and grimaced. "Hiking accident. I have insurance."

She laughed at him. "We aren't exactly set up for Blue Cross. I don't suppose you have a case of powdered milk instead?"

He gaped at her, and she shook her head. "Tourists. Yes, we will treat you. Yes, you can send us a check later. We would be very happy to see your US Dollars. Let's see if the doc has a minute."

She motioned for him to follow her and opened the door to an inner room where a slim woman with hair so red it was unnatural, looked up.

"Brought you a present, Julie."

"Christmas, already?" she asked, with a smile.

"American tourist. Hiking accident. Look in his eyes says it hurts a lot. I didn't catch his name."

The blonde left, her flip flops slapping on the linoleum floor. Jensen could smell disinfectant everywhere, and it comforted him, even though he realized it was absurd. The redhead looked at him quizzically. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

She cut free the wrapping with surgical scissors and a swiftness born of long practice. "Hold still and shush." She whistled under her breath as she examined his arm. "We're going to need x-rays. From the bruising, this is, what, five days old? You didn't wrap this yourself," she said.

"No, I was with a friend. He's got some first aid experience, but yeah, five days since I first hurt it. Yesterday I..." _had it yanked in two directions by a druglord's minion,_ he thought, "something even more stupid happened to it."

"Right." She led him into a room with ancient tiled floor, a battered wooden chair half hidden by a bookcase holding stacked cloth, and state of the art x-ray equipment. "Sit." He sat and she used foam blocks to prop his wrist at the angle she wanted and commiserated with his wincing before stepping over to the machine to push a button, repeating the motion three separate times.

He heard the hum of a printer, and after a time, the doctor came back with several sheets of paper. "All right, you've broken the ulna but not the radius, which is actually a pretty clever trick. I'm not sure how you managed it. You've also damaged the connective tissue and that's more problematic. At least the break is clean, almost like it was wrenched."

Jensen didn't met her eyes.

"Tell me," she asked seriously, "why is Jeffrey Dean Morgan looking for you?"

The blank professional look fell over his features and he raised his head. "I beg your pardon?"

"That was polite, no profanity," she remarked, turning away to pull materials from a cabinet. "No, stay by the sink."

"Your patients swear?"

"Most of them. They're here because it hurts."

"And the ones Morgan sends?"

"Usually aren't conscious. I won't hide you. Not against him." She slid the remains of a tube sock over his wrist and began crossing wet plaster bandages over his arm.

"I won't ask you to. You're here tomorrow and we're gone tonight."

"Good, so long as we've got that straight." She threw the strap of a bright blue sling around his neck and adjusted it to length with practiced ease. "There. Keep it above the level of your heart. Don't mess with it until it dries completely. Yes, I know it itches, don't scratch. You shove something up there, it'll injure either your skin or the cast, and either's a problem. See your doctor when you get stateside, but of course, come by immediately if your fingers start to tingle, get numb, turn blue, the usual circulation tricks. Seriously, keep it dry."

  


"How'd you rate a shower?" asked Jensen, a crumpled white bag in his hand.

"The benefits of not needing first aid. Eric let me use his. Had to put on the same clothes, though. New ones are waiting for us at Luisa's. What's in the bag? Did you find a bakery?"

"No, it's pain killers and stuff. Can I get a shower?" asked Jensen plaintively. Eric went from a snort to a cough. Jensen eyed him suspiciously and hoped he wasn't contagious.

"Nope," said Jared, not meeting his eyes. "Used up all the hot water."

"Well fuck."

"This is great," said Eric, and wiped streaming eyes.

"Listen, the doc at the clinic, she asked why Morgan was looking for me," said Jensen.

Eric stopped coughing and gave Jared a serious look. "Jared, he’s not going to give up trying to get this back. I can't believe the file names here. He must want them bad. We can bring down Frewer _and_ Otto's cartel with this, but we need the key to open them, to see if the data is actually there."

"Key?"

"Yeah, there must be an encryption key somewhere else. It wasn't on any of the drives."

Jensen wandered around the room, thinking, looking at the various bits of hardware Eric had scattered everywhere. Everywhere except where the large terrarium stood. That area was spotless. Inside there were two turtles, half in a pool of water. He looked at Eric. "I didn't figure you for a turtle guy."

"Cowabunga, dude," said Eric, with a wave of the hand that wasn't using the mouse. "Demore and Lanette, Jensen. Jensen, Demore and Lanette."

Jared's reflection in the terrarium shook with laughter, and Jensen could see the mosquito drive bouncing on its zipper pull. He gasped, turned and grabbed at Jared's ass. "I've been staring at the damned thing for days."

"What?"

"Zipper pull. Encryption code. The only drive we haven't checked is on your _ass_."

Jared twisted and unhooked the mosquito, and held it for a moment, looking at Jensen. "You've been staring at my ass for days?"

Jensen ducked his head. "Maybe."

Eric held out his hand.

"Wait." Jared waved him off and turned to Jensen.

"Huh?"

"Jensen, your data is on this drive. The data from your laptop. If I give this to Eric, it goes into the computers. What on here is proprietary? You said 'worth millions?'"

Jensen gaped at him. "Who are you people?"

Eric snickered. "I'm an egghead. Jared? Well, he's Jared. One of our engineers. We work for the Phoenix Foundation. I don't know that you've heard of us. Well, you aren't supposed to have."

Jensen narrowed his eyes. "Oh, trust me. I’ve heard of you. Every third HR meeting. You people have poached a significant percentage of my R&D department over the last ten years. I could take it as a compliment that you think we made good hires, but I wish you'd find some other corporate directory to datamine."

Jared grabbed a Sharpie out of a coffee cup on Eric’s desk and gestured at Jensen while he answered, "Oh, like you can talk, it’s not like the sharking’s only one way."

"Heyerdahl pursued us," Jensen protested, while Jared started marking very precise block letters on the edge of Jensen’s cast, pushing the sling up gently when it got in his way.

"You didn't have to hire him."

"Don’t be silly, of course we did. The man’s a genius."

Jensen tried to see what Jared was writing, but he couldn’t make it out with Jared’s shoulder in the way. "Tell it to DARPA,” said Jared. “Oh, that's right, you did. And then you stole that contract." Jensen narrowed his eyes, but Jared just laughed. "A lot of our work is in R&D, true, but we also do some NatSec work, um, everywhere."

Jensen blinked, then grinned. "CIA's not allowed to work on US soil, and the FBI's not allowed elsewhere."

Jared nodded, "Exactly. We're just a scholarly private group of theoretical researchers. We have a few field ops agents in deep cover, like Cohen," he paused and looked up at Jensen through shaggy bangs. "And then we have a handful of troubleshooters."

"Like you."

"Like me." He stood back, and Jensen missed his warmth.

"I could see you wearing a lab coat. I know you're a handful."

Jared smirked. "I hang around the office and make a nuisance of myself, yeah. How’s that?"

On the inside of Jensen’s cast in neat block letters, Jared had printed. “Under this Agreement no party acquires any license under intellectual property rights of the other party except the limited right to view information as discussed by:” and left neat blocks for their signatures. He had already signed. Jensen scribbled a rough approximation of his signature with his off hand, and Eric smirked as he signed, taking his time.

“What the hell is this?” asked Jensen.

“It’s a dick. My official legal signature includes it. It’s why they don’t like me signing contracts.”

Jensen sighed. “Load the drive, asshole.”

 

  


Jared opened the door and ushered Jensen in. "Nice--" he began.

"It's a twin room with no blinds on an east facing window and a toilet that's older than I am," Jensen interrupted.

"It's not--"

"Is this your life?” demanded Jensen.

“Sometimes." Jared shrugged. "Sometimes there’s hockey."

A spate of Spanish followed them up the stairs, and Jared smacked himself in the forehead. He drew Jensen out, turned him around, and opened the door opposite.

This room faced west, and every flat surface except the queen-size bed was covered with flowers. A basket of fruit and a covered tray sat nestled among them on the table. The gauzy white curtains were tied back, and billowed in the breeze.

"What--" began Jensen.

 

"It's a hotel room with an indoor toilet and clean sheets on the bed. No shower, but the tub is huge, and the toilet is still older than you are."

Jensen looked into the bathroom. The tub stood in the center of the room, steam hovered invitingly above it, carrying the scent of sandalwood.

"The botica was fresh out of Bvlgari Black, I had to make do."

"You did this for me?" asked Jensen, stunned.

Jared ducked his head. "It's the best I can do, Jensen. Still in the jungle and all."

"Jared, I--"

"Too much? I got candles, too, but you know, I forgot it was daylight, and the only ones I could find were those religious ones, in the tall glass jars, but if you want, I can light them anyway, especially the one to the Blessed Virgin, because she's the patron saint of pilots, and I think--"

"You're babbling," Jensen said. He'd never head that from Jared before.

"I guess I am," said Jared. "It's just that I want everything--"

"That's what I want, too," interrupted Jensen.

Jared breathed in and smiled. He cupped Jensen's jaw in one hand, just as he had at the club, and Jensen turned his head to place a kiss in his palm.

"I could help you out of your clothes and into the tub, or straight onto the bed," Jared suggested.

Jensen dropped the bag he'd been carrying since the clinic on the bed, and looked at Jared. "Or you could _shave_."

Jensen skinned out of the sweats and shorts he'd been wearing for days, and struggled with the t-shirt until Jared's warm, strong hands stretched the neckline open, freeing him. He was in Jensen's space, expression questioning. He wondered what was in his own eyes, if Jared could see his confusion, his desire. He was nervous now that the time had come, and he could smell himself, his clothes, and wrinkled his nose.

"Anything here you want to keep?" asked Jared, gesturing at the pile of clothing.

"Oh, hell no," said Jensen, wishing he could say _just you_ , and strode toward the bath. He started to climb in, then perched on the side for a moment as the hot water took his breath away. The water was clear, he noted, no fish or snakes or leeches. The thought made Jensen smile softly. Something to be thankful for.

Jared took the offending clothing away, and Jensen could hear him doing something in the other room.

He slid in, leaning back in the tub, and let the heat and water soothe his aches, startling at the knock on the door frame.

"You mind if I go in and out while you're soaking?" asked Jared.

He was nude, leaning on the door frame, and Jensen let his eyes roam. He'd been right the very first time; Jared was everything he wanted in that dream man he didn't have - until now. Jared's hair needed a trim, but Jensen liked it long. His long, lean torso was well-muscled, but not overly so, his legs went on for days, and between them-- Jensen realized he hadn't answered. He swallowed hard, and said, "Not at all," in a voice he thought hadn't squeaked.

Jared smiled. "See something you like?"

Jensen ducked his head, caught out.

"I'm gonna shave, okay?"

He walked to the sink with a questioning glance over his shoulder, and all Jensen could do was nod. Jared lathered his face, watching Jensen in the tiny mirror.

Jensen leaned back again, finding a spot for his cast to rest, and watched Jared, who finished too quickly for Jensen's taste. He was half-hard, and enjoying looking at Jared's ass, just like he'd watched it when they were hiking through the jungle. Lost in a daydream, he startled again when Jared dropped something into the tub. Jensen looked up. Jared was looking at Jensen's erection, well on its way to full on hard, and he licked his lips.

Jensen cleared his throat. "What's this?"

"Brand new boxers. I just want to rinse the sizing out of them so they aren't so stiff against your skin." He rinsed out the boxers, wrung them out, and laid them across the drying rack by the windows.

It was a quiet, domestic moment, and Jensen felt the lack of it in his life up until now. Jensen ducked under the water to wet his hair, and to hide the naked need he knew was on his face. He surfaced and looked for the shampoo as Jared picked something off the ledge, and came over to the tub, perching on one side. The tub was so deep, he almost didn't have to bend his legs. Holding up a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap, Jared gestured. "I know you're a man grown, Jensen, but that cast shouldn't get wet, and--" he looked Jensen in the eye, "I want to. Can I wash you?"

Jensen couldn't have spoken to save his life for the lump in his throat, and just nodded.

Jared stood behind him. "Your hair's wet. Shampoo?"

Jensen laid his head back. "Dude, my head _itches_!"

Jared poured the shampoo into one palm and rubbed it with the other. "Got it."

Long strong fingers massaged Jensen's scalp, and he thought, it takes me a minute to do this in the shower, but oh, God, the pressure of those fingers made him melt into the back of the tub and slide down into it.

He registered Jared's chuckle as handfuls of water sluiced down his head, down the back of his neck. Jared hooked up the hand held shower, rinsing the shampoo out of Jensen's hair. He whimpered at the boneless sensation, aware of every inch of his body, careful to keep the cast on the edge of the tub while his toes curled.

Jared dropped the sprayer into the tub, and stepped to the side, wet the cloth, soaped it up, and leaned in to run the soft cloth over Jensen's shoulders. He was so close, Jensen could smell his freshly shaved skin, and his good hand found its way toward the back of Jared's head to pull him closer. Before Jared could move, Jensen made a distressed noise and let go, his hand splashing into the water.

"Jensen?" asked Jared.

"I haven't brushed my teeth, or shaved. I'm a filthy mess, and I wanted to come to you all clean and--"

Jared laughed. "I don't care."

"I'm all over gross. You must."

"Don't. Not in the least. I've seen you all clean and shiny, remember? Like you scruffy. This is real life; it's messy. None of it changes that it's you I want. Kiss me."

Damned if Jensen didn't. They were both breathing hard when Jared broke the kiss, and Jensen looked at him searchingly.

"I was about to fall in. Sorry."

"You could join me. This tub is huge."

"Didn't know if you'd want me to," said Jared, eyes downcast.

Jensen thought of all the things he wanted to do to and with Jared, and smiled softly. "Mi bañera es su bañera."

"Well, it would make this easier." Jared climbed in, and knelt, straddling Jensen's thighs, and went back to washing him. Jensen couldn't remember feeling this relaxed. He'd always thrown up walls, and tensed up, but there weren't many secrets left between the two of them, and he let himself go in Jared's care. When he turned to wash Jensen's feet, Jared's ass was upturned and pert in front of him. Jensen heard the pop of the plug being pulled.

Jensen scooped a last handful of water and poured it onto the small of Jared's back. Jared went still.

"Jensen?"

"Is--is that okay?"

Jared answered softly. "Don't stop. I want you to. Want you to touch me."

Jensen traced the rivulet of water with his index finger, his touch feather light. He traced it again, down the cleft of Jared's ass, the light pressure making his wrist throb. Drawing a breath through his teeth, Jensen considered his alternatives. He wanted, needed to touch Jared, and opportunity was fleeting. He needed to hold onto him, and keep from using his right hand, keep his cast dry. Jared was already starting to turn around, when Jensen gave a mental shrug, and gently licked the path his finger had drawn.

Jared trembled, Jensen couldn't have held him in place, but he could feel Jared holding himself still.

Jensen licked again, mumbling, "Is this okay?"

"Jesus, Jensen, you couldn't have done... you couldn't have known. Fuck. My one bullet-proof kink, and there you are."

Jensen smiled, and swirled his tongue. He'd got this one right.

Licking, tonguing, he teased Jared's opening until it relaxed enough for his darting tongue to gain entrance, and Jared shook.

"You okay?" asked Jensen.

"I..." began Jared. "When I was at Eric's, I... prepped a little. Oh, shit."

"What's wrong?"

Jared smacked himself in the head. "I left the backpack at Eric's, I was in such a hurry to get you here."

"I don't--Oh!"

"I'll run back over. I'm so sorry, Jensen." Jared clenched, and started to get out of the tub.

Jensen held his hip with his good hand. "There's more in that bag I brought in than pain killers, Jared."

"What?"

"Relax." Jensen went back to licking, wetting his thumb in his mouth, and using it to hold open the ground he'd gained so far. One summer, he'd taught himself to tie knots in cherry stems with his tongue, that skill seemed to be standing him in good stead. He added the thumb from his injured hand, holding Jared open as he probed deeper, curling his tongue to probe, to explore. Jared swayed and groaned, and Jensen's thumb slipped inside, reaching further than his tongue, bumping against something that made Jared keen, and grab the sides of the tub. His knees slipped, and Jensen pulled him backwards, worried that Jared might brain himself on the edge of the tub.

Jared sat back on his heels, and Jensen's dick twitched in interest, as Jared tried to catch his breath.

"I know this isn't what we talked about, Jensen, but I would be much obliged if you would help me out here."

"Help you... Jared?"

"Jensen, please?"

Jensen was unprepared for how on-board his dick was with this plan. He'd thought Jared would... but... He leaned forward to nip at Jared's shoulder. "Come on. We are not doing anything in this very hard tub where one of us will for sure get hurt."

Jared laughed. "Not so sure I can get out." He turned part of the way around, and shifted his knees to straddle Jensen. His eyes were dark now, Jensen noted, and he still held the soap. He rubbed it between his hands, making a lather. He looked at Jensen's dick, dropped the soap into the dish by the faucet, and reached down to soap Jensen, thoroughly.

"What are--" Jensen broke off his question when Jared leaned in to take his mouth, tongue gentle and moving leisurely, completely at odds with the firm strokes Jared's hands were giving his dick. Jared scooted forward and lowered himself down, the tip of Jensen's dick at his entrance.

Jensen broke the kiss and looked searchingly at Jared, who whispered, "Please?"

Jensen ducked his head and answered. "OK, but I still don't know how."

"I've got it." Jared threw back his head, and started to lower himself down, drawing back, and lowering again, further, deeper, until Jensen was squirming. He started to twitch, trying to fight the urge to grab Jared's hips and slam home, but he thought that might be rude. Jared read his mind, placing Jensen's hands gently at the top of his hips, urging him on, and Jensen thrust, leaving them both gasping.

Tension sat deep in his belly, and his good hand found Jared's dick, thumbing the crown, watching the line of Jared's throat. Jensen leaned forward to lick at it, feeling Jared groan with passion.

Jensen's groin went tight, and Jared rode and Jensen bucked, throwing his head back and sucking air. Then, Jensen felt pleasure bursting between his legs as Jared's spunk shot over the top of his fingers. He didn't know if it was his shout, or Jared's that rang in his ears, as Jared collapsed against his chest, and they fought to catch their breath.

  


Jared traced lines through the spunk on Jensen's chest and abs, Jensen could feel the edges drying and pulling at his skin. With his toes, he turned on the tap, the sprayer head issuing a lazy stream of warm water. He rinsed his chest, and turned the sprayer onto Jared's back, imagining the track the water was taking.

"Oh, Jensen, what you do to me," sighed Jared, and nipped at Jensen's neck. His foot slipped, turning the gentle spray into an icy torrent.

Jared yelped, and pulled away, knocking the sprayer out of Jensen's hand, and under his ass. His expression of surprise was priceless, and Jensen couldn't help but laugh, until Jared turned the sprayer on him. It was _cold_!

They scrambled around the tub, until Jared finally trapped the sprayer head, and adjusted the taps. "So much for that post-sex stupor," laughed Jared. He hosed Jensen off, and cleaned himself before shutting off the water.

"Does it hurt?" asked Jensen softly, tracing Jared's pecs with a finger.

"What you're doing?"

"No. Jared, I had you in my mouth and you're a lot bigger than --"

"Oh." He turned toward Jensen. "Do you think I would ever hurt you?"

Jensen was abashed. "Not on purpose. What if I'm built wrong or something?"

Jared turned the rest of the way around, losing his balance. His knees slipped, as he fell towards Jensen, reaching out, and bracing himself on the back of the tub. He finally came to a halt a scant inch from Jensen's lips. "Let's find out."

He clambered out of the tub, and grabbed two towels, rubbing himself dry and wrapping the towel around his waist before turning back to Jensen and holding out his hand. Jensen looked at it. That hand had helped guide him over logs and under vines, through the jungle, had kept him from being hurt, or killed, had held him in his arms at night. He placed his own in it, sure this was what he wanted more than anything else.

Jared toweled him off, eyes questioning.

"I'm sure, Jared."

Jared smiled, dimples and white teeth, and Jensen felt something catch in his chest. Jensen walked into the bedroom, and put his forearms on the bed, legs spread.

"Jensen?" asked Jared.

"Isn't... Jared. Isn't this what I'm supposed to do?" Jensen felt lost.

"Oh baby," Jared said with a groan. "I forgot."

"Huh?

Jared walked over and wrapped Jensen in his arms. "You really don't know. I forgot." He pushed off the floor and landed them both in the bed, its springs complaining at the abrupt weight. He faced Jensen, propped on one elbow. "I'll make it good for you, I swear." Drawing Jensen's white paper bag out from under his waist he asked, "What did you bring?"

Jensen blushed. It hadn't seemed so awkward when he'd asked Julie for supplies, and her eyes had twinkled, so he had let her pack the bag. "Um. Condoms, and something she said was good for lubrication?"

"May I?"

Jensen was completely tongue-tied and nodded.

Jared looked into the bag, and reached to the night stand for a bottle of water. He pulled out the pain pills Julie had prescribed and opened the bottle, reading the label before shaking a single pill into his hand. "You didn't take any."

"Didn't want to miss anything."

"Jensen."

He was so used to listening to Jared by now, he'd swallowed the pill and downed half the water before it registered. "Jared, I'm serious."

Jared cupped the back of Jensen's head. "I'll make it good. Memorable. I--" he trailed off. "I will."

Jensen wondered what Jared had been about to say, but then Jared was licking his neck, trailing down to one nipple and then the other. He swam in a sea of sensation, and forgot to worry about what came next.

Between kisses, Jared said, "You know, I haven't had a drink in a week."

"Drink a lot, do you?" Jensen asked, automatically.

"I'm a pilot. I almost never drink. Just that I've been dreaming about licking tequila off of you. The hollow of your neck, your navel, the small of your back..."

Jensen shook.

"I didn't get any at the mercado; it's a good fantasy I'll keep for awhile."

Jensen thought about the bottle of Milagro Romance in his liquor cabinet, and stopped thinking altogether as Jared rolled him over and licked at the small of his back.

"You know what you did, to me, in the bathtub?"

"Uh huh?"

"l'll show you what it feels like."

Gently, slowly, languorously, Jared's tongue drifted down Jensen's backside, splitting the cleft of his ass, and continuing downward. Jensen felt his whole body flush. Had he _done_ that?

Jared kept on, lapping, licking, and Jensen felt invaded. Not violated, he wasn't resisting, but bared, naked to the core. For the first time he could remember, he didn't care. He knew Jared wouldn't hurt him, and that made him feel free. Jensen sucked a deep breath.

He heard the bag crinkle and Jared huffed a laugh. "I'm adding a little lube, Jensen, it makes things--"

"Slip, I know."

Jared laughed again, and Jensen heard the snap of a plastic cap. There was a cool trickle, and he could feel Jared's fingers now, stroking, probing. He tried to relax, and the low rumbling of Jared's voice lulled him, pulled him into paying attention to the low tightening of his gut.

"So beautiful, Jensen, you are so much what I want. Will you let me?" asked Jared.

The only response Jensen could give was to raise his hips.

Jared chuckled, and snaked a hand under him, gentle on Jensen's cock. "I'm going for it, Jensen."

Jared's finger breached the outer ring of muscle, and Jensen fought to relax. This was what he wanted.

Jared rained kisses over his shoulders, licked down Jensen's back, murmuring unintelligible endearments that Jensen felt throb through his entire being, and let it all go. Jared's finger slipped in past the second ring of muscle.

Jensen let out a gasp, and Jared held still. "Jensen?"

"Good, good. I'm good. I just, Jared, that's weird."

"Weird, like you want me to stop?"

Jensen felt Jared shift, and took a moment to think about it. "No, not stop. I just feel so _full_."

"Well," Jared drawled. "Let's see if I can't let you enjoy this more." His finger twitched, and Jensen gasped again, a flash of pure pleasure flooding his senses.

"What did you just do?" he gasped.

"Found it." Jared's finger twitched again, and he leaned down, his tongue sliding in next to his finger. Jensen started to shake, and Jared withdrew. "That's your prostate, feels good, doesn't it?" Jensen made a frustrated whining noise.

"Shh, shhh," soothed Jared. The snick of the cap came again, and the cool sensation of what Jensen identified as lube, soothed his sore flesh. There was more filling him now, and Jensen wanted that flash of pleasure again. He squirmed, driving Jared's fingers deeper, and Jared's chuckle was almost as arousing as the gentle stroking Jared was giving him. Once again, Jared bent to lap and thrust with his tongue.

Floating in sensation, Jensen was startled to feel abruptly empty, then he heard crinkling. Turning his head, he saw Jared put on a condom that must have come from the clinic's bag. He made a disappointed noise. He was sure Jared had nothing to fear, health-wise. Jared smiled encouragingly at him. "It'll be easier for you like this, at least the first time." Jensen thought he saw a flash of sorrow go through Jared's eyes, but he couldn't be sure, because Jared was turning him onto his back.

"It would be easier, probably, if you were on your belly, but Jensen, I want to see your face." His fingers probed, and he nodded, another liberal application of lube, before he set himself at Jensen's entrance. "Last chance to cry off."

Jensen was almost past thinking, he wanted this so badly, but he was enough in the now, that he bent his knees, and scooted toward Jared. "Want to see your face, too."

Jared flashed that grin Jensen loved so much, and where had that come from? Jared's thumbs spread Jensen open, he eased in, little by little until the crown of his dick, no, thought Jensen, Jared called it a cock, was inside Jensen.

"Okay, still? asked Jared.

Jensen nodded, mouth dry, and Jared began pushing and withdrawing, pulling completely out to let his finger take the place of his cock. Jared swirled his fingers gently, to brush the most sensitive part of Jensen, then pushed his cock back inside. Jensen couldn't think anymore, all he had left was want, and the new sensations he was feeling were overwhelming.

Jared took Jensen's good hand, and placed it on his hip. He took Jensen's cast with the utmost care, and sucked each of the fingers in turn, deeply into his mouth. Jensen was twitching, writhing, head tossing back and forth, and he tugged at Jared, who thrust home.

Jensen arched on the bed. His dick pulsed, then settled, insisting that it too, was part of this, but it was almost too much for Jensen to bear. Jared was too big, he was too full, he was splitting in half, and then, Jared pulled back, skimming Jensen's prostate, and Jensen drew a long, rasping breath. He pulled himself onto his elbows, and met Jared's eyes. "Do that, do that again, please?"

Jared's joyful laugh was just what Jensen needed to hear, and Jensen brought everything he knew about leverage into play, challenging Jared with a roll of his hips.

Eyes wide, Jared let out his own gasp.

Their hips moved then, faster, and faster again, sweat pouring off them. Sighs and groans, kisses and whispered encouragement accompanied the most ancient of all dances. Jared clutched at Jensen, who ground onto Jared's cock, dick squirting its completion over his belly as he felt Jared pulsing inside of him. Jared used his weight to tip them onto their sides and pulled Jensen into his arms. "Okay?" he asked.

Jensen gave a shudder of aftershock, and Jared slid out of him, as his eyes tried to close. Jared reached between them, and then to the nightstand, the noise of the crinkling bag making Jensen's eyes open. Jared pulled a cloth out of a container, using it to wipe Jensen off. It was moist and soft, and he was sure he'd made a noise of inquiry, but his eyes were closing again before he could hear what Jared replied.

  


Jared woke, arms full of Jensen, who had burrowed into him, as if they were sleeping in the hammock. He rolled Jensen over and slipped out of bed to use the toilet, feeling a satisfying soreness that made him smile. He turned to look at Jensen, picturing the overlay of a suit and tie and access badge on a lanyard, instead of Jensen, naked in the sunlight from the window. He could see Jensen was awake, and put a smile on his face. "Hey," He said softly.

Jensen stretched, arms over his head, and Jared could see the look of surprise at his unaccustomed aches. Soft color stained his cheeks as he rolled to his side and looked at Jared. “Back in the real world--” began Jensen.

Jared stood in the bathroom, pulling the pair of new boxers off the drying rack, making a face over their slight dampness. He missed his well-worn old ones, but they'd given it up for the cause. At least the sizing was washed out of these. He realized he was stalling, not wanting to have this conversation. “You define reality, Jensen.” Jensen made an indistinct noise in rebuttal, and Jared continued, “Seriously, you call the shots here. I don’t like it, I fucking hate it, but I will respect it.” He turned toward back to look at Jensen, not quite covered by the sheet, nearly glowing in the slanting light of the setting sun. “You look…”

“Call me princess again and you’re cut off.”

"Don't, Jensen. You fucker, that guy from Snow Patrol's going to be picking my brain for the rest of ever. It's killing me to think of--I'm not thinking about it." Jared ducked his head. That was perilously close to confessing, to begging. Jensen had been very clear from the beginning, no chance at him.

Jensen started to say something; Jared was afraid he wasn't going to like it. They were still in the jungle, dammit, he had a _little_ more time. Dropping the boxers on the floor, he launched himself onto the bed, making Jensen and the bed springs squeak, then squashing him flat.

"You can’t even stand to hear me say it it, can you?" he murmured. "So beautiful. Freshly fucked. Shagged out…” He buried his face in the junction of Jensen's neck and shoulder, breathing him in, memorizing the form beneath him.

“Blissfully post-coital and I’d kind of like to stay that way, okay?" Jensen nipped at Jared's lower lip. "How about we not have this discussion, ever?"

"Fine. Until the cavalry shows up, can you just... I dunno. Let me live in the now?" Jared leaned in for a kiss, and if he mussed Jensen's hair, muscled over him to rid him of his boardroom straight posture, who would blame him?

"Jungle, right?" Jensen smiled up, his skin golden.

Jared trailed kisses along Jensen's temple, across his jaw, and down his neck. "Jungle," he murmured into Jensen's collarbone. He walked his fingers over Jensen's chest, watching the way the shadow of his hand dropped and defined the curve of Jensen's shoulder.

Jensen squirmed under him and he braced himself, one hand on the bed to each side of him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I was going to run some water over myself before we left." Jensen pulled in on Jared's elbows and Jared gave way, falling into him for another kiss, then let himself be rolled to the side.

"You aren't going to break a sweat as soon as we leave? Because I'm pretty sure I am."

Jensen sat on the edge of the bed and Jared threw one arm over his hips, not quite pinning him. "What happened to blissfully post coital?"

"I need to see if I can still walk. It's better, Jared, to pull the bandage off quick," Jensen answered as he rose and moved into the bathroom.

Jared sighed, then sniffed one armpit. He'd been worse, and while he could understand Jensen's urge, he was going to indulge himself. He'd have no trace once the soreness eased, once he showered, except the stupid fishing hat. He leaned in the doorway and lost his train of thought.

Jensen knelt in the tub, quickly rinsing himself with the hand held shower. “Oh God, I’m never underestimating the importance of hot water ever ever again.”

"Dry socks, too. Vital to well-being,” agreed Jared, as he pulled on a pair fresh from a cellophane package.

Jensen looked over his shoulder. Jared spread his hands and grinned, nude except for white tube socks. Jensen turned off the taps, shaking his head. “Our travel requirements really are radically different.”

“Yeah, room service really doesn’t count as roughing it.”

“Room service? Anything without a concierge floor is roughing it.”

“I’m good with dry socks.”

"See, like I said, different worlds."

  


Jared pulled the door shut behind them as they left Luisa's, suddenly unable to keep his hands off of Jensen

“Jared, I’m trying to walk here, it's hard enough with my ass throbbing.”

"Hated every minute of it, didn't you. Seriously, I didn't..." Jared trailed off, worried that he might have hurt Jensen. First times were never to be taken lightly, even if he only had his own for reference.

"Just sore. Still blissful."

“Am I making it hard?”

“Hard to walk? Walk away? To let _you_ walk away? Yes.” There was sorrow in Jensen’s eyes and Jared realized he wasn’t teasing. That maybe, just maybe, Jensen didn't want to walk away either.

He looked up at the sound of the seaplane coming in for a landing and squared his shoulders, wishing Jensen had taken ten more minutes.

  


Jensen was surprised to see Eric standing in front of the clinic and waved. He thought they were meeting back up at his place, and it wasn't like the village and surrounding suburbs were big enough to merit a guide for the walk across town. He felt Jared's hand come down on his shoulder about the time he registered that Eric wasn't smiling, and stopped, partially hidden by an aging Volkswagen and the sagging facade of the building behind him. Jared bumped into him from behind and Jensen half-turned to see Speight standing too close behind Jared, his hands hidden. Jared was looking at the clouds, his lips pursed.

Jensen led the way across the street, wholly unsurprised, at this point, to step into the shadowed interior and find Cohen behind the nurse's desk. Collins sat at a table, a pair of crutches across it, familiar manila folders scattered across the rest. Morgan smiled from the hallway that led to the treatment rooms. “Did you really think I’d let you get away with this?"

Jared stepped up beside Jensen and said, "Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd..." Jensen saw the motion out of the corner of his eye, but couldn't react in time to keep Speight from slamming his weapon against the side of Jared's face. Jared dropped to one knee, then looked up to see Speight aiming a handgun at him. It was within Jensen's reach, he thought. He could be the hero. Or he could get them both killed. He carefully raised his free hand and kept his mouth shut.

"Speight." Morgan stepped toward them. His hair had been clipped short and the skin across his face and neck was angry and red where it wasn't covered with burn dressing. "Be nice, so long as they cooperate."

Speight kept his gun on them as Stanz stepped forward. Morgan said, "You're on your knees already, so pray, Padalecki. Pray quick, that I don't spatter your buddy's brains over you."

Jared raised his arms, wrists and elbows together, and Stanz wrapped them securely with duct tape, then grabbed Jensen's raised arm and pulled it down to the cast, shoving the sling out of the way with the roll. Jensen bit his lip to keep from grimacing as the action sent shock waves up his arm. Someone, he didn't bother trying to guess who, popped at the backs of his legs, forcing him to drop to his knees beside Jared.

"There's no profit in killing us, Morgan," Jared said. Jensen closed his eyes to keep himself from watching Cohen for some sort of cue.

"Is that what your intel has on me? That I'm purely mercenary? You're right and wrong," Morgan laughed. "There's personal satisfaction." He pulled the Colt from its holster and shot Jared in the shoulder.

Jensen recoiled in horror, then bent toward Jared, who sucked air through his teeth, and shook his head at Jensen, as he pulled himself upright, maneuvering to get in front of him.

"Crazy sumbitch pretty much sums it up," Jared gasped.

"I'm hurt!" Morgan pressed his hand against his chest in a parody of emotion, then lashed out and kicked Jared in the side, angling his toes toward his back. Jared sprawled forward, his chin hitting the floor hard enough to draw blood. Morgan kicked him again, this time fully in his ribs. "And I mean that quite literally. I _hurt_ , you little shit. You set me on fire." Morgan stepped on Jared's bloody shoulder, deliberately putting his weight down to grind it into the floor, and peered at Jensen, kneeling behind him. "You and your little league star here." Morgan's booted foot came at Jensen so quickly he couldn't do more than twitch, so the blow aimed for his nose landed on his cheekbone.

"You know for a one burro town," Jared mumbled, "this place has remarkably high tech equipment." Jensen spared a moment to wish Jared would just shut up, before realizing that he was doing it deliberately, pulling Morgan's attention to himself. His cheek stung and he felt the trickle of blood trace his jaw. He kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, yeah." Morgan patted Jensen's hair, insultingly intimate, then backhanded him. "She gets all sorts of funding, doesn't she? Churches in Iowa send her their kids' worn out jeans and expect gratitude." Jensen could taste blood at the tip of his tongue.

"You buy her equipment and expect silence."

"I buy her equipment and expect my men to be treated. Silence comes with the job. If not, there are always more pretty little pre-meds wanting to save the world." Morgan dragged Jared back up to kneeling by his hair, jerking his hand away when the soft tendrils of his too-long hair caught on his ring. "What. You. Don't. Get," he said, punctuating each word with a slap to Jared's face, "is that you’ve already cost me money. " He landed a final blow and Jared spun with the force of it, blood spraying from the gash the ring cut into his cheek to fall face first against Jensen.

Jensen supported him as best he could with his hands taped, shoulder to shoulder, face to face, while Jared took slow, carefully controlled and even breaths. Jensen looked at the blood on his face in dismay, bruising already making the flesh puff up and swell. Morgan kept talking. "I’m getting it back, because providing proof of US interference on foreign soil is surprisingly lucrative, but even if no one wanted your corpse and its passport, I’d kill you anyway. How’s that for fucking with your profilers?”

Collins' phone burbled AC/DC. He thumbed the screen and said, "Boss, this is the call you were waiting for."

Morgan pulled the phone out of Collin's hand as Stanz asked, "I don't trust them. Why aren't they fighting?"

"Oh, that one's biding his time. He's thinking of all the ways to break for it - thrilling rescue, all that. You see, my angels, our birdy-boy here thinks he's a hero. What he doesn't get is that he's a tool, and his pretty pretty friend here is nothing more than collateral damage."

"I thought we were going to kill them."

"Surprisingly, you thought right. Let's find out where." He poked at the phone, then walked to the window. "God damned third world country and no reception. I'll be back." He walked out the front door, waving the mobile, trailed by Wisdom and Stanz. Speight gestured at Cohen, behind the desk. Cohen tossed Speight a flask, and he sat on a scarred vinyl chair.

Jared writhed to a sitting position. Jensen figured he was better off staying on his knees. If he sat down properly, with his arms taped together, getting up would be awkward. On the other hand, it might not be an option.

"You okay?" Jared whispered.

"No," Jensen answered. "Better than you, though."

Jared tried to reach for him, and the sounds of a ratcheting slide floated across the room. "If you move from that spot," Cohen said conversationally, "I will shoot you in the leg. Just so you know."

Jared wiggled his fingers, then said at a normal volume, "That tape's going to be hell to get off the cast."

"I guess I'll be making the funeral director work for his pesos, then," Jensen snapped. He was scared, but he tried to let Jared see the resolve in his eyes as he memorized him. The pain was evident in Jared's eyes, face bruised and swollen, blood was running from his shoulder, dripping into a puddle on the floor, and Jensen thought he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. His subconscious smiled in smug satisfaction.

Speight laughed. "What's keeping him?" he asked, picked up his gun and walked out the front door.

Cohen rolled his eyes, Collins resumed staring into the distance with one hand on his gun and the other rubbing absentmindedly at the edge of the tape holding gauze to his arm. Jensen imagined he saw patterns in the blood already smeared on the floor. "I've been thinking."

"What, again?" Jared teased, in spite of the measured breaths he was taking.

Jensen started to grin and re-opened the split in his lip. He spat out the dribble of fresh blood and said, “Yes, well, apparently I’m the brains of this outfit.”

“You just keep believing that, princess.”

"It's too late to do it differently, but I wish I'd been smart enough to promise you the world."

Jared looked incredulous. "You think I won't hold you to that?"

"I think you won't get the chance." said Jensen, sadly.

"So it's safe to--"

"Shut up. I'm saying sometime between sucking your cock this morning and right now, I realized that..." he trailed off, trying to put his hands around what he felt, what he'd decided, about the time he realized that the blood on his face wasn't all his.

"You are an abomination in the sight of God," said Collins.

"You gonna pass out, or did you change your mind?" Jared asked, ignoring the man with the gun.

"Trying to think of the right words. I'm sorry. I'm wrong. I want to hold your hand in public. I want to... I don't know... picnics and Christmas trees." Jared huffed a pained laugh and Jensen continued, "I wish I'd been able to think happily ever after before. I wish I could kiss you right now."

Cohen looked out the window and muttered, "You know, I changed my mind. Watching you roll around on the floor could be fun."

Jared lurched sideways toward him and Jensen flopped backward to the floor under his weight, realizing only after the impact that Jared had thrown himself on top of him. Jensen heard a car backfire outside the window. A series of similar bangs followed. Cohen dropped behind the desk, but Collins left his crutches on the table and hopped to the door, his weapon at the ready. Something, surely too loud to be a handgun, roared, and Collins flew backward, reflexively spraying the room with bullets and leaving a smear across the floor as his lifeless body flopped. Dust puffed from the walls, shimmering and settling in a fine ash over the waiting area. Jared grunted; Jensen focused on him even as he heard the bang of the door slamming into the wall.

If they were going to die, he wasn't leaving it left unsaid. "I think I love you, Jared." He waited for a gunshot, but instead heard a chuckle.

"Charming last words, young man, but certainly premature." Jared twisted suddenly and caught Jensen in the solar plexus with an elbow or maybe a knee. The woman's voice continued, "If you would suffer some well-meant advice, traditionally, that declaration comes with flowers."

"Aunt Linda?" Jared said, and Jensen blinked to see a tiny woman in a Chanel suit under a TAC vest bending at the waist to embrace Jared. Two men in full gear stood behind her, weapons drawn. A third stepped forward with a naked blade the length of Jensen's forearm. Jared growled, still on his knees, and knocked the man's weapon away with his taped arms, blood dripping on the floor. The tiny woman held up her hand, and the man with the blade nodded, handing it hilt first to Jared. He turned to Jensen, who smiled fondly, and held his bound arms up.

"I'm holding out for a pony," Jared said over his shoulder. He slit the tape on Jensen's wrists with the blade, flipped it around and freed himself. "This," Jared gestured with the arm that wasn't streaming blood, "is the cavalry." He dropped the knife with a clatter and leaned into Jensen. "I hate getting shot."

“I – did you know this was going to happen?”

“I suspected as much. You were supposed to sleep ten minutes longer.”

“I am _sure_ I need a drink.”

Cohen popped up from behind the desk. He beckoned one of the armed men to where he had been hidden by the antique. Jensen heard him say something about a concussion before he was distracted by the tiny woman poking at Jared's shoulder.

"Boy. That looks painful."

"Hurts like the dickens, but through and through. Nothing life-threatening. I'm very glad to see you. This is Jensen, by the way. Jensen, my Aunt Linda."

She peered into Jensen's eyes. He should have stood up, shaken her hand, been the charming businessman he was, flashed the smile that the PR department so loved, but he was tired and he could feel his pulse in the cut on his face. “I thought we were gonna die,” he said, absently.

“He would have had to come through me,” Jared said.

“Yeah, well, he _shot_ you.”

“He _kicked_ you.” Jared started to shrug and winced instead.

The woman, Linda, or maybe Aunt Linda, placed one small hand on Jared's forearm and stood for a long breath, simply gazing at him. Jared smiled at her from the floor, his expression more rueful than ebullient and Jensen closed his eyes, too tired to move. Or, if he wanted to be honest, too afraid to lose what contact he had with Jared, even now. Another black-clad man with a white and red armband stepped over to help him up then nodded him toward a table near the door, kicking a chair upright to let him sit. Jensen sat obediently, willing to be told what to do for just a while longer. He endured quick hands and a cursory investigation of his injuries, then the medic moved to Jared.

The tiny woman stood back, barely far enough for the medic to have room to work, arms crossed and wearing a forbidding stare. Jared suffered having his wounded arm treated enough to stop the bleeding, then stood, unsteadily. She tugged at his ruined sleeve and he sat back down, this time on a chair, but she didn't speak. She raised her tiny hand to cup his battered jaw, then nodded. He gestured toward the desk at Cohen, where lanky Eric was being lifted onto a gurney. She nodded, and Jared looked back over to Jensen.

Glancing up at the man in military gear who had accompanied her, the woman said, “Problem, Mr. Smith?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You seem surprised that I might be fond of the boy.”

“Yes, ma’am. No, ma'am. Didn't know there _was_ a boy, ma'am."

“Am I truly that intimidating?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

He smiled at that. “Yes, ma’am.”

“He is, in fact, the closest I have to a son.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I regularly send him out on missions that most people would consider suicidal.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Regretting requesting assignment to my team yet?”

“Never, ma’am.”

“Good." She raised her voice. "The situation is contained." She walked to where Jensen sat. "Let's get you cleaned up, my dear," she said matter-of-factly, as though she were facing a mud-spattered toddler and not surrounded by men with heavy weaponry who jumped at her command. "I am Linda Hunt, and I think we will come to know one another better.

Jensen gave her a small smile. "I hope so." She nodded her approval.

Jared left a conversation with a man in full gear and crossed the room to press a kiss to the woman's forehead, leaving another smear of blood on her suit. "Sorry, Aunt Linda." He wiped at it with his sleeve, merely smearing it more. "Man, I hope you still have that magical dry cleaner."

"He does have a way with unusual stains, doesn't he?" She raised her voice and called, "Let our civilian friend through, if you please.”

Jared leaned in to Jensen, who barely kept himself from grabbing onto him. “They want to take me for x-rays."

"I happen to know where that is." He mustered a weak smile. "Want company?"

Jared shook his head. "Between the tech in charge and the doc in cuffs until they clear her, I think it’ll be crowded. You stay here and talk." He blinked twice then sank into the empty chair next to Jensen.

"What happened to getting radiated?"

"I’m trying to talk my legs into working. You think they have a wheelchair I could use?" asked Jared.

"The nurse’s chair has wheels." Jensen nodded to the desk chair, tipped over on the floor in front of them. He lifted his eyes to Jared’s, and saw the question in them. He realized Jared was asking if he meant what he’d said earlier. “You already know my secrets.”

Jared looked at Jensen’s cast, and propped it on his knee. He wiped his thumb against a still wet bloodstain on his shirt, then pressed a print gently next to their signatures. Jensen nodded once and started to do the same, at the last minute crossing Jared’s print at an angle that made a heart of their thumbprints. He could practically feel Jared's smile.

Mitch stepped into the room and paled when he saw Jensen spattered with gore. He barked at the EMT, got in the way, and when Jensen patted him to calm him, apologized gruffly, dropping to one knee in front of him. "I'm sorry, Jensen, I thought... I thought I'd lost you, too."

Jensen leaned to put his good arm around Mitch. "If it wasn't for Jared, you might have."

Jared, shy eyes hidden under his bangs, said, “I've heard a lot about you, sir. It’s my privilege to meet you.” He hissed as the paramedic touched the arm that hung slack, blood seeping through the dressing.

The paramedic looked at the tiny woman, tilting her head at the door.

"Jared, they need x-rays," she said.

He looked at Jensen, who smiled back. "It's the jungle as long as we say so," he said.

Jared's answering grin made Jensen's toes curl, and he watched as the paramedic righted the nurse's wheeled chair, motioned Jared to switch seats, then towed him over the uneven linoleum into the x-ray room.

"That's a cast." Mitch's accusatory tone brought Jensen's attention back to him.

"Sure is, _and_ an NDA. Mitch, it's okay. Really. Jared's a friend, maybe more." He dragged himself back to the conversation at hand. "So, how'd the discussion with NGC go?" Jensen watched Linda pull out her cell and speak into it with casual disinterest. "Two... no, wait, four days ago? What day is today?"

"It's the day I don't give a flying fuck about Northrup Grummond. Jensen, look at me. Are you... well, I guess it's safe to say you aren't all right."

"Yeah, I've got to schedule a doctor's appointment for the wrist. And buy new trainers. I have to tell you something, but we're both going to need scotch for that."

"We've got MacAllen's at home."

"We'll use the bottle in your desk to deal with NGC. Oh! And we've got an embezzler - Fuller. I'm pretty sure he's dead, though, so prosecution may be less of an issue than it was last week."

"I'm beginning to question your priorities, Jensen. Look me in the eye. What are you thinking?"

Jensen rubbed at the edge of the cast. "I'm thinking this is why I quit playing poker with you."

"It's also why we only ever played for M&Ms, son. I know full well that you cleaned out your dorm mates on a regular basis. Talk to me. Are you really all right? Did that man--"

Mitch wasn't going to let it go, he thought, and steeled himself to confess. "I--Mitch, I don't think I want to live without him in my life. I know you're going to be disappointed in me, but I've finally come to terms with it." Jensen drew a shaky breath, but looked Mitch in the eye. There wasn't any hiding this, not anymore. "I'm gay."

"Right, and?"

"I'm in love with Jared."

"Okay, and?"

"Already told you about the embezzlement. Mitch, I'm serious. Why are you not freaked out? You knew?"

"Jensen, you've never had anyone in your life and it always made me sad. I'm not about to start telling you how to have a relationship now, son, but remember that if you do it right, you get back what you give away."

"Just--the business."

"What about it?"

"The shareholders, the government contracts, Susan and her prayer circles ... ."

Mitch shrugged. "You'll deal with it. We'll deal with it. You have chosen a harder path than I would have liked for you, but you're not alone."

"I didn't _choose_ it," Jensen mumbled.

"No. I misspoke. It's my job as a--what?--surrogate parent to try to make your life better, easier, than mine. All I can do for you in this is be here. I do love you, son, and this doesn't change anything about who you are. Be sure he's someone who can make you happy the rest of your days."

Jared scooted back in on the wheeled chair, holding a bottle of water between his knees, and an ice pack against his cheek. His shoulder was wrapped with another ice pack peeking out of the wrapping.

"Got your legs to work?" asked Jensen.

Jared nodded, rolled the chair to stop next to him and laid his head on Jensen's shoulder. “Aunt Linda?”

“Yes, boy.” Her entire attention was on him, and Jensen thought it would be unnerving. Apparently, Jared was used to it.

“I quit.”

“Yes, boy.” She smiled gently, and Jensen thought it was a conversation they might have had before.

“Just until I’m pretty again. Can I pass out now?” he asked, plaintively.

“Not yet. James is bringing the car around.”

“Did the car faint?"

“So nice to know that your appalling sense of humor hasn’t been affected by blood loss,” Miss Hunt said, drily.

“No, pretty sure it has, because that wasn’t funny, even to me.” He looked sideways at Jensen. "Why was that not funny?"

Jensen nodded at the bottle of water in Jared's hand. "Drink that." He snaked his arm around Jared, tugging him closer.

Jared twisted off the cap of the water bottle, and gave him a loopy wide grin. The pain killers were plainly kicking in, but there was promise in his look. "To survival."

"To the jungle."

Jared managed a smile before his eyes fluttered closed.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Enthusiastic gratitude for our beta, kasman, who was with us from the start, chemm80 and calamitycrow whose thoughtful comments were invaluable, and all y'all who had stuff to say, kicked us when we needed it, and waved pompoms.
> 
> smut_slut deserves lots of enthusiastic comments for the art that accompanies the story. We appreciate the pretty so very much.
> 
> Finally, thanks to wendy and thehighwaywoman who make this all happen and ensure that we have stuff to read over the summer break.


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